#I have been through hell and back the last days with it. I will never forget the smell of mouse shit | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shaunamilfman · 2 days ago

Text

does your mother know?

pairing: Jackie Taylor x masc/butch!r summary: Jackie's been a titan in her industry for the last ten years. You're her hapless assistant she snapped up fresh out of college. She insists that you can't do anything right, but that's okay. You look good in a tie. And on your knees, probably. She hasn't gotten around to that. Yet. note: heavy on minors dni. based on this jackieshauna fanart i saw on twitter. most self-indulgent thing i've ever written i fear.

A shrill call of your name has you jumping out of your seat, your office chair rolling back into the wall as you hurry around your desk toward the door of the large office in the middle of the room. It's the third time just today that she's called for you suddenly like that, despite her continued ability to just message you, so you don't even flinch anymore at the interruption. She's trained you out of that.

“Yes, Ms. Taylor,” you say as you step through the always open door. It was supposed to be some kind of metaphor about how you could always ask her for help since her door was always open, but you mostly believe it's to spy on her employees.

Mainly you.

You're not sure what she did with her day before she hired you 8 months ago right out of college. Honestly, you're not sure how you managed to get the job in the first place. Jackie Taylor was a well-known name—has been for nearly ten years—and one you definitely weren't qualified to work for in the first place. Somehow you had managed to ace the in-person interview with Jackie. You'd only applied for a laugh, but here you were.

In hell.

“Took you long enough.” She sniffs, eyes narrowing as she leans forward in her chair. “Is that a new cologne?”

Your eyes widen. “I, uh, yeah. Yes, I mean. It was a gift.”

“A gift,” she repeats. “A gift from whom?”

“Someone. A woman. Did you need help with something?”

“Did I need help with something,” she mutters, seemingly letting the cologne thing go. You knew she wasn't. She was just waiting to bring it back up when you least expected it. When you're the most vulnerable. She was good like that. “Do you think I just called you in here to stare at you?”

Maybe. She's done it before when you came in with a tighter shirt. You couldn't prove it, but you knew from how flustered she seemed the entire day. Unfortunately, she's definitely calling you in to pile more tasks on you.

You flip your notepad open, pen poised to write down notes faster than she spoke them as you look up at her expectantly. Jackie almost preens as you snap to attention, a pleased curl of her lips as she starts rolling off instruction after instruction. It's everything you can do to keep up with her at the best of times, and this was no exception. By the time she's finished, and you've gotten ink covering three pages and your fingertip, you feel like your hand has run a marathon of its own.

Practice for tonight, maybe, if your date went well. You smile at the thought.

You look back down at your sprawling notes, the tasks seeming to go on forever. If you’re fast enough, and you usually are—a product of being threatened with unemployment at least once a day through sharply worded emails or even sharper smiles—you’ll be able to finish it with just enough time to make it to the restaurant. Still in your work clothes, but you thought you made the tie work for you. A lot of women did, Jackie included.

That little smirk she wore after, like she was daring you to comment on it. It was nice to catch her staring, even if a part of you thought that you should go to HR about it. If Jackie had been a man, you wouldn’t have hesitated to do so. But Jackie was decidedly not a man. Not in those tight pencil skirts that seem to accentuate every inch of her hips and her thighs. Or those heels of hers that made her legs seem impossibly long even though she had to look up at you to address you.

Much to her continued chagrin.

She hated that you were taller. Hated that she had to tilt her chin up. But she never said anything. She just narrowed her eyes and found a new bullshit reason to call you to her office.

The point was, no one was going to HR. Your boss pervs on you from time to time, yes, but it’s not like she was some creepy old man with a wedding ring he forgot to take off. She has a good ten years on you, but time has been nothing but good to her. You would be jealous at how well she’s aging if you weren’t so busy thinking about bending her over any available surface at least half the time. And she was single. Blissfully single, if you hear her tell it.

You don’t think that last part’s entirely true. Jackie’s the kind of woman you imagine attached at the hip with her partner, tripping over each other’s feet. If you have to take a guess, the only reason Jackie went home to an empty house was her commitment to her job. She was married to it and expected the same out of the rest of you. It was why her department tended to have such a high turnover rate, but her results spoke for themselves. There were few people in her field as well known as her, especially at how young she is.

Maybe you have a bit of a power crush on top of your real, actual crush. Whatever. It’s not like it could make you any less fired if she finds out about it. If she doesn’t already know. Knowing Jackie, she probably does. That woman seems to know everything. It was her trade, after all.

“Are you even listening to me?” Jackie asks, giving you a glare as you visibly startle out of your thoughts.

You shake your head sheepishly, adjusting your grip on your pen. It was far too expensive for something you would buy for yourself, but Jackie had presented it to you a few months ago with a command not to leave a Bic in her company car ever again. You’re sure she had her driver burn it. You half expect the one in your hand to self-destruct if you ever displease her too much. Jackie has the kind of money that could buy that kind of thing if she really wanted to.

“You're fired,” she says flatly, waving a manicured hand in your direction dismissively.

You hum in acknowledgement, finishing up the last of your notes. “And will you still want lunch from—”

“My usual. Yes.” Her voice softens just the slightest, a flicker of something indulgent in her voice before she plays it off. Jackie pinches the bridge of her nose as she leans back in her chair, her reading glasses pressed higher against her face.

You catch yourself watching her. Again. There’s something calculated in the way she sits in her chair, one leg crossing over the other at the knee. Like she’s giving you just enough rope to hang yourself with, and nothing more. Not an inch more.

She rests her head on her hands as she finally looks back at you. “Well, go. Do I need to hold your hand?

You try not to think too hard about that last part.

“Busy night?” Jackie asks, just as you reach her door to let her know you were about to head out.

There's a sinking feeling in your chest as you wait in the doorway. The two of you are the last ones left in your department, working hours past when everyone else went home. That's how it usually went with Jackie. She works her employees hard and herself harder. Jackie seems to see you as an extension of herself. That usually just fucks you over twice as hard.

She carefully slides her glasses down the bridge of her nose, folding them up gently as she places them on her desk and looks up at you.

“No,” you lie, rocking guiltily on the balls of your feet. Your expensive leather shoes, a graduation present you were stuck with in your fancy office job, squeak obnoxiously as you do so, making you wince. Jackie lets out a long-suffering sigh as she stares down at them before meeting your eyes again. The kind that wears you down before she even opens her mouth.

“No?” she asks slowly, folding her hands up in her lap.

Fuck.

She knows.

“Ihaveadate,” you mutter, eyes downcast. Maybe if you don't look at her, she won't yell as loudly? It's never worked for you before, but you can't fight the urge. God knows why she seems so possessive of your time. She never got mad at anyone else for having plans outside of work, but whenever you did, she acted like it was a personal affront to her sensibilities.

“What?” Her voice isn’t raised, but it cuts you just the same

“I have a date.”

Jackie sits back in her chair, a look of disappointment crossing her face. It's not like you can avoid it, not with the way she sits there staring at you in silence. You squirm at the intensity of it as you finally bring yourself to meet her eyes again. That look wasn't anything you think you can ever grow used to. It's not the same look she gives you when you fuck one of her impossible tasks up. This was more personal and far more cutting for it.

It makes you want to plead for forgiveness just about the same amount as it makes you want to take her by her shoulders and shake her. It wasn't any of her business what you do after work, right? This was crazy.

“It’s not during work. I finished everything.”

“You scheduled a date during your working hours, and you're just going to rush out of here without finishing it?”

“I did finish. And everyone else left hours ago. ” You can’t help but protest, pulling out your notepad and flipping to all the tasks she'd given you earlier that day. Every single one of them was checked off. You had even started on some of the tasks you knew needed to be done tomorrow. You show her as much, but she doesn't seem impressed. She doesn’t even glance at it.

“And yet,” Jackie says slowly, gesturing to a fat stack of papers on her desk. “Your work remains.”

“That’s not—that’s not fair,” you insist, suddenly feeling childish. The words just fall out, shaky and small. Like you're ten years old and being denied recess. It only makes you feel so much younger than you are, especially when standing in front of Jackie Taylor.

“Fair?”

Jackie scoffs, standing up out of her seat and walking up to you. You can barely stammer out an excuse before she’s grabbing onto your tie, right near the top where her fist curls around and pulls. You follow the motion unconsciously, gasping as it tightens around your throat and makes it harder to breathe. It’s not as bad when you lean down, eye to eye with Jackie for maybe the first time ever.

“Enough,” Jackie says, staring you straight in the eyes. You gulp, nodding rapidly and gasping as it tightens your tie around your throat. Her tone is cold and as firm as you've ever heard it. It goes straight through you in a way that's entirely too pleasant. It takes effort to avoid doing something humiliating.

Suddenly she’s off, pulling you by the tie behind her as she leads you through the office building, stumbling after her. She almost shoves you into your chair, your body hitting the chair with a thud that sends the chair back into the wall. Jackie leans down, one arm braced on the chair on the other side of your head. You’re breathing far too quickly for someone sitting on their ass in an office building.

“You’re not going on that date.”

You nod, again, at a loss for words. Jackie stomps off, and you take a moment to loosen your tie around your neck and try not to gasp too loudly for breath as you do. She slams the paperwork down on your desk with a thud, sparing one glance to the clock in the corner of the floor before heading back to her office.

What a bummer.

…

When you come in the next day, it’s to see security dragging out the friend you’d talked to about your date the day before out of Jackie’s office. She’s crying, a box of her things clutched in her arm as they escort her toward the elevator. You watch with wide eyes until the elevator doors close behind her, slowly turning to face Jackie’s office only to see her leaning in the doorway watching you.

She gives you a little wave with her fingers, a smug look on her face, before she turns and disappears into her office like nothing’s even happened. You sit down wearily at your desk, slowly starting your computer up as you stare in the direction of Jackie’s office, like the walls could explain what just happened.

How is this your life?

…

The screen of your computer starts to feel like it’s staring back at you in what you’re sure is a side effect of only pretending to work. You had run out of things to do at least an hour ago, when you had last been brave enough to glance toward the clock, and have been clicking around on Excel to look busy ever since.

Normally your days ended in a rush, struggling to finish what you’ve been assigned, but as you’re going on twelve straight hours of sitting in this chair, even Jackie ran out of tasks to give you.

“You’ll think of something,” she had assured you two hours ago before she slipped into a Zoom meeting you weren’t invited to. A group of investors halfway across the world that would only meet on their time, you're sure.

The only question was why you still have to be here. Sure, you’re her assistant and all, but it wasn’t like she was actually letting you do anything at the moment. You reach for your coffee—cold. You look out the window—dark. You click another row, highlighting a row of numbers.

“Now,” Jackie calls out, and you can’t smile at the command. Smile. You’re so bored sitting here that you’re actually excited to be given more work. Like a dog summoned for a chore. She might as well give you a leash with how eager you are to do what she says. You hurry up and into her office, trying not to look too relieved as you stand by her desk.

Despite calling you over, she doesn’t immediately give you something to do. She doesn’t even look at you as she types away at her computer, far too focused on whatever she was doing to even spare you a glance. Not a word, not a glance, not even a flicker of acknowledgement. That was… that was something.

You shift your weight from foot to foot as you stand there, hands resting by your sides as your fingers tap against your pants pockets idly. Does she want you to announce yourself or just wait for her to start speaking? Maybe this was your task, just to stand here waiting like an extra in an office movie without a speaking line. You wish you could see the screen from this angle, if only to see what she was working on.

A spreadsheet? An email? A memo from an office where assistants had something to do?

You start to wonder if she forgot you’re standing here when she suddenly starts to speak. “I need you to get on your knees.”

“Ex–excuse me?” You ask, wondering if you somehow heard her wrong. This was the kind of thing women like Jackie said in movies. A very specific type of movie that you wouldn’t admit to ever watching.

“Don’t be weird,” she says, rolling her eyes as she pushes away from her desk. Clearly unimpressed with the way you’re staring at her in shock and a tiny bit of awe. She waves her pantyhose-covered foot in your direction. “Help me put my heels on.”

Her heels are sitting just under the desk, where they always are when she’s alone in her office. She barely sits down before she slips them off, as you’ve witnessed a hundred times. You can’t imagine that they were all that comfortable, so you never questioned it. You’ve also never been asked to help her put them on before, either.

“My back hurts,” she adds, a light blush coloring her cheeks at the admission. That ten or so years on you catching up on her, it seems. You soften slightly, eyeing her heels with a sigh as you slowly sink to your knees on her carpeted office floor. This definitely was not in your job description.

The floor was firm beneath your knees, the kind of cheap carpet you only find in office buildings or schools. There was barely enough cushioning there for you to even consider it carpeting, but it was enough to stop the position from actively being uncomfortable for the moment. A win for you after a long day of losses. You almost have to crawl under the desk to reach her shoes, an activity not helped by the way Jackie plants herself in her chair like a tree, not moving even an inch out of the way to make the whole endeavor easier for you.

You wonder if a part of her just enjoys humiliating you. Moreover, you wonder how fucked up you have to be to like that thought. They’re lighter in your hand than you imagined them being. You’re surprised by the thought even as it crosses your mind, looping one finger through the straps of both heels as you shuffle back on your knees and raise them up questioningly.

“Do you see any other shoes down there?” She answers. You huff as you sit them on the ground by the side of her desk. Maybe it would’ve been a dumb question if the woman hadn’t owned so many pairs of shoes. You’ve been here for months and months, and she’s barely even repeated an outfit. Her closets must have closets, okay? It makes sense to check. You might have said such if looking up at her from this angle didn’t make your throat feel like it was closing up whenever you caught so much as a glance at the hem of her skirt so close to your face.

It was like the protective glass in the museum had disappeared.

“I don’t, Ms. Taylor.”

She nods, gesturing down to her foot impatiently. Slowly, like you’re waiting for her to slap your hand away, you pick up the shoe and bring it toward her foot. You start with the easy one, her left foot hanging in the air where she has her leg crossed over the other. As your fingers run over the expensive red bottom, you worry about your mediocrity rubbing off on it. It wasn’t the type of shoe people in your tax bracket tended to see this closely, let alone touch. There you are, fumbling with something that probably costs more than your rent.

Jackie doesn’t say much as she sits above you, just watching you with those eyes of hers like she was taking in every single detail of it. You hold the bottom of her shoe to the sole of her foot with one hand as you draw the straps around her ankle, fiddling with the clasp for an embarrassingly long moment before you figure it out. It was far too small, making your fingers feel abnormally large and clumsy.

She’s still silent in a way that’s unusual for her. You can’t imagine her being this quiet in an office full of people, so she has to be at least somewhat affected by your presence. The idea is more soothing than it should be, relaxing you enough for you to move on to her next shoe with far more confidence than you had started with.

It’s the only reason you find yourself grabbing her ankle firmly, squeezing with enough pressure to force a gasp past her lips as you lift her foot off the ground. You slip her heel on with the same gentle dedication you did with the first, feeling brave enough to stroke her ankle with your thumb as you clasp her shoe together.

That bravery carries just long enough for you to sit her heel back on the ground, hands pressing against your thighs as you start to rise to your feet only to suddenly be pinned back against the edge of the desk by one heeled foot. The desk digs into your back, a complement to the feeling of the sharp tip of her heel pressing into your chest. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, quite literally.

There’s an effortless authority in the gesture that has you remaining tight-lipped, not able to voice a single protest about the treatment even if you had wanted to. You aren’t sure that you did. Whether you could muster up the courage, you’ll never know, because Jackie pulls her foot away just as quickly as she had positioned it there.

She’s not even touching you anymore, but you swear you can still feel the echo of it against you. The lack of sleep was probably making you hallucinate. That was probably the explanation for why you swear that Jackie seemed contemplative for a moment before she let you go.

“Are you ready?” you ask, looking down at her in her chair as you rise unsteadily to your feet. Her eyes are wide. Just wide enough that you start to wonder if you somehow crossed a line during the whole thing. Maybe holding her ankle still the way you did was a little too much for someone like her.

“No.”

You try not to visibly deflate as you stare out the windows of her office longingly.

“Yes, ma’am,” you murmur. Jackie makes a little sound that you can only assume is dismissive at the words.

There went any chance of getting a decent night's sleep. Not, of course, that you’ve gotten one in months. If you aren’t at work, you’re dreaming of it anymore. Lately your dreams have taken on a singular nature that you can’t think about right now lest Jackie somehow read it out of your mind.

“No,” she repeats. “You go on ahead. I just need to finish something up.”

“Okay.” You aren’t giving her a chance to take it back as you give her a little wave and hurry your way out of her office and pull your jacket right off your chair. As you wait for the elevator, you hear a noise that sounds suspiciously breathy, but you put it out of your mind. Tonight, at least, the only date you have is with your mattress.

…

That constant brush, brush, brush of Jackie's bare thigh against your slacks during the dinner with investors you definitely aren't important enough to be invited to is driving you insane. No, you're past insane. Took a left at Crazy Town and blew through the stop signs to keep on driving.

At first you were willing to brush it off as mere coincidence, but now you know better. It was too deliberate of a touch for it to be anything but a purposeful attack on your restraint. A brush here or there was fine—understandable, even. The too-cramped chairs crowded together around the table lent themselves to that excuse fairly handily until that slow drag of skin started, too undeniable in its intentions.

It’s just—you’ve thought about it, dreamed about it, even, but you never actually thought it could happen. Jackie’s actions, as blatant as they sometimes felt, could always be explained away by misinterpretation or just someone lacking boundaries until now. Everything you’ve wanted for months is being presented to you on a silver platter right now, and all you have to do is take it.

That time you would usually take to think these kinds of things through has gone out the window. You don’t want to think. You don’t want to wait. Not when she’s so obviously asking for it.

Fine, you can let Jackie win. You’ve found so far that she usually does, but it doesn’t mean that you have to go down without a fight. You slip your non-dominant hand beneath the table casually, only to rest it firmly on her thigh.

She tenses in the seat next to you, fork halfway to her lips and trembling just the slightest amount before she recovers. A question posed to her by an investor that Jackie answers masterfully, betrayed only by the minuscule quiver to her voice as your pinky curls beneath the hem of her dress.

Her eyes bore into the side of you whenever she gets a moment away from the conversation, but you don’t want to look over at her and give away the game. You aren’t about to give up the free food they keep putting in front of you. Jackie doesn’t pay you enough to afford eating here. It only seems to irritate her more each time you bring your fork up to your lips like your hand isn’t where it is.

You don’t move your hand beyond that for a while, letting it be a constant weight that Jackie grows used to before you strike. Jackie seems almost relieved as you move your hand toward her knee. Relieved, but disappointed too. Both those emotions disappear as you slip your hand beneath her dress.

Slowly at first, gauging her reaction before you get too far. There’s nothing on her face to give her away besides a light flush that could be attributed to a number of things, but then she carefully disguises spreading her legs for you as shifting in her chair. It was a barely-there parting of her knees, an invitation disguised as indifference—a Jackie Taylor specialty, lately—but it’s enough.

Bingo.

Her hand wraps around your wrist, fingers pressing hard enough to bruise. Hard enough to remind you who’s really in charge here It’s not a no or a stop. You know that much immediately. It was too possessive for that.

Can’t have any ideas going to your head, right?

That’s okay.

That’s your favorite part.

“You can go home after you drop me off,” Jackie addresses her driver, fingers tapping away as she drafts an email on her phone. You’re not sure if you’ve ever seen her stop working.

What would that even take short of a minor miracle or a lotto win?

You slump down in your seat, looking up at the ceiling as you try not to visibly react. You must have really fucked something up at dinner if she wasn’t letting her driver take you home. Could she fire you for that when she was the one spreading her legs? You felt sure enough in the moment that you could’ve updated your job description to include it, but now you can feel the dread creeping up your throat.

Jackie nudges you with her knee, confusion slipping into concern into disappointment when you don't immediately respond to her flirty smile. Her lips purse before she catches herself and turns away as she tries to reel it back in. You don’t let her.

“He can go home because…” You trail off, needing to hear her say it. Just once. None of that ambiguity she’s been teasing you along with.

She hesitates, thumbs hovering over her phone indecisively. You imagine there must be a lot more risk to her answering that question than there was to you asking. She was your boss, after all, and the one that would ultimately get in trouble if she came onto you unwillingly. It would be her name splashed across the papers in the end, with you as nothing more than an unnamed twenty-something assistant.

“You’re coming home with me,” Jackie confirms, shoulders straightening as she regains that air of confidence you know so well.

“Yeah, alright.” The words come out too quickly through nerves.

“Yeah, alright,” Jackie mutters. “What am I thinking? Wait, hold on. Did you think I was going to make you walk home?”

You avoid eye contact as you suddenly find something far more interesting to look at through the heavily tinted windows. Mostly, you can just see Jackie’s reflection behind you as she shakes her head and turns her attention back to her phone. Dedicated to the end, that one. You half expect her to pull her phone out when you finally get down to it to shoot off one last email, but you hope even she has enough sense to leave it on a table somewhere.

Would she consider that foreplay? Her eyes scanning across her phone with one hand entwined in your hair, guiding you exactly where she wants you. Not rushed or frantic, not even affected by you as she works. Like it’s something she’s come to expect. Sending off an email while you’re between her legs, maybe even signing off with Best regards as you make her come.

The idea sends you down a line of thought that involves sexy emails before you can decide how ridiculous the concept is.

You can imagine her sitting in a bed—you’ve never seen it, but you imagine it as the sprawling monstrosity it must be, far too large for her and covered in pillows with the softest sheets on the market—shooting you off an email. No subject line, just a message: Review Attached. Urgent. Maybe a photo, maybe something more.

It sounds like a fast track to an HR violation. Probably illegal. Definitely unethical. That might be what makes it fun for her. She’s never been all that shy.

Jackie’s still sitting beside you, typing away. You wonder if she knows the effect she’s having on you without even trying as the driver pulls up to the front of her building. She pats your thigh affectionately as you start to open the door, sliding across the seat to slip out behind you.

Right.

This was happening.

You follow behind Jackie on the way up to her apartment, if you could call the penthouse an apartment. You’ve never actually set foot inside this building despite how many times you’ve waited in the car with her driver, but you can’t bear to look at anything besides Jackie now that you know how the night is going to end. It’s not like you won’t have time to look at the lobby during your inevitable walk of shame whenever Jackie kicks you out.

She steps inside her penthouse with that regal air that always follows her around the office, setting her things down with seemingly no rhyme or reason to their placement. There's some form of organization to it, but just like her desk, you find that it's a mystery to prying eyes. Just the way she likes it.

Jackie saunters over to you, thumbs hooking in your belt as she presses herself up against your chest.

“Ms. Taylor,” you murmur instinctively, flushing when it makes Jackie let out a low laugh.

“Not here,” she answers, pausing to consider before shaking her head. “Not right now, anyway. Maybe…”

If she has something else to say, she keeps it to herself.

You can work with that.

“Jackie,” you amend, enjoying the way the syllables feel in your mouth.

“Sounds nice when you say it.” A smile spreads across her lips. A real one, not the one she gives investors. It’s nice. “Again.”

“Jackie.”

The name barely leaves your lips before her lips are on yours, gentle but insistent as she rests a hand on your face to tilt your chin down. She kisses you like she’s been waiting for it, holding back just long enough to really savor it—savor you—before she fully commits to it. Her palm is so warm that you can feel the entirety of her hand against your skin as she guides you with that same quiet authority she always has.

Even that has nothing on the way her tongue feels brushing against you as she parts her lips, coaxing rather than demanding, as you would’ve expected from her. It’s maddening in its contrast, enough to make you feel dizzy as you chase after her when she tries to pull away for air. She smiles against your lips, allowing you a few more desperate moments before she pushes you away with gentle hands.

Not a rejection, just a pause, but damn if it doesn’t feel that way for a moment. You stumble back half a step, already missing the feeling of her lips against yours. She’s the kind of woman you can get addicted to, and you’re already starting to fear what that might mean for the future.

Her chest moves rapidly as she catches her breath, drawing your attention down and down until you can’t help but sneak a peek down the top of her blouse. You didn’t figure she would mind all that much. In fact, she seems to welcome the attention as she strokes a lazy thumb along your jaw. It feels more affectionate than it should be and more than a little possessive.

She slips her hand down from your belt, sliding into each of your pockets and emptying them. Keys, wallet, headphones—whatever you have on you ends up strewn across the table by the door. Her eyes don’t leave yours, but her fingers return to hook her fingers into the waistband of your slacks.

Jackie tugs, and you follow. Willingly. Happily. You would follow her anywhere she likes right about now. If only she wasn’t so smug about it, but then you might not like her half as much as you do. She leads you right into her bedroom without a moment of hesitation.

You’re not sure what you’re more impressed about: the fact that she’s walking backward through her apartment or the fact that she’s doing it in those heels.

Jackie's just barely through the doorway before you surge forward, pressing her back against the wall and trapping her hands between your bodies. She manages to free her hands with nothing short of a smirk, but all thoughts of protest slip away as you slot your knee between hers.

She gasps, grabbing at the back of your shirt as you drag her hips forward. It's taken as the hint it was, Jackie picking it right up as you split your attention between helping her grind against your thigh and mouthing at her neck. You want so badly to suck on that perfect, unmarked skin of her neck. To bite down and leave her with more than just a memory of the night, but more than anything you want to still have a job in the morning.

You'll save it for somewhere she can hide it. You're generous like that. She should be grateful she has such an amazing assistant.

You can't feel her as much as you want to through the fabric of your pants, but the warmth of her as she rolls her hips up against your thigh is undeniable. That wet drag of fabric as she lets out the best little noises against your ear before turning her head to bury it into your neck.

A hand comes up to tangle in your hair, pulling your head back as she takes a turn with the skin peeking out above the collar of your dress shirt.

“Jackie, fuck.”

“Just—just stay there,” Jackie demands. She has none of the same concern for leaving marks on you that you had for her, seeming to delight in the concept. It only makes her more eager to move against your thigh.

“You're the boss.”

“I am.” The words are almost thoughtful as she pushes you a step back, hands resting on your shoulders.

She doesn’t give you a second to get your bearings together before she’s pushing you back onto her bed with a strength you weren’t aware she possessed.

She’s got one of your shoes untied before you even manage to prop yourself up on your elbows to look at her, pulling one and then the other off in a flash.

“Scoot up,” Jackie says, pointing one finger up at her pillows.

(Just as many as you expected there would be.)

You settle down somewhere in the middle of them, looking for reassurance only to find Jackie kicking off her heels at the foot of the bed. She reaches behind her back, and her dress comes off with far less gravitas than you were expecting. Maybe she lost her desire to make a show out of it somewhere between your hand slipping up her dress and being pinned against the wall.

Either way, you couldn't help but stare. Slowly she puts one knee on the bed, crawling up to your side and giving you another kiss.

“Jackie,” you murmur afterward, hands reaching for her hips to pull her onto your lap. Jackie takes only a moment to swing her leg over your hip before settling down. You run your hands up her bare thighs the moment you get a chance to, finally seeing the legs that have been taunting you all night.

She doesn’t rush you now like she rushed you back into her room. She just watches, letting you explore. And explore you do, taking in every inch of skin that’s been presented to you until Jackie sighs, grabbing your tie and rolling it around her fist as she forces your attention back on her face.

“Is that all you’re going to do?” Jackie asks, leaning close enough that you can feel the words about as much as you can hear them.

“I was getting there.”

You cut Jackie off before she starts to say whatever snide retort she has at the go, fingertips slipping just beneath the waistband of her panties before she catches your wrist and stops you.

“Say please,” she orders, eager enough that you're sure she wouldn't be able to actually follow through if you didn't. There was a chance, though. Jackie was so stubborn at times.

A part of you enjoys following her orders. Enough that you do it without much thought.

“Please.”

Jackie’s expression shifts immediately into satisfaction, a reward that you’re happy to indulge in. Her hand pulls tighter around your tie, almost choking you as she slips her panties off. She won't give you enough room to look at anything other than her face—flushed and hungry—leaving you to blindly move your hand to find her entrance.

She's wet enough that it takes a moment, fingers sliding across damp skin until you finally find what you're looking for. Her eyes meet yours and don't look away, hips rising just enough to sink down on your fingers with a breathy sigh.

The tie tightens again as she exhales through her teeth, rolling her hips down impatiently enough that it clues you in on what to do.

“Shit, sorry,” you mutter, meeting her thrust for thrust as she settles into a rhythm.

A hand cracks across your cheek. Not enough to bruise, but enough to sting as you watch her through wide eyes. The skin tingles, feeling like it shoots adrenaline through your body. Fuck, you want her to do it again.

“Should’ve expected you’d need help with this too.” The words are harsh, but the way the end breaks into a moan as you curl your fingers is enough to soothe the wound.

You don’t bother to answer. You just give her what she wants, fingers working in fast, deliberate strokes that make her thighs tremble. Jackie leans into it, chasing that pleasure with every roll of her hips. Her hand shakes from the effort of holding onto your tie so tightly, but her eyes stay locked onto yours like she was daring you to look away.

When your palm presses against her clit, the noise she lets out is far needier than anything else you’ve heard from her tonight. Maybe ever. It was light at first, then firmer at her reaction. All you want to do is please her. It’s all you’ve ever wanted. It was quite literally your job, though this application was far outside your job description.

Her head tilts up, finally breaking eye contact as she lets go of your tie to hold onto your shoulders. You sit up, one arm wrapping around the small of her back to hold her as she buries her face into your shoulder. She clenches hard around you at the change in angle, whining into your neck as she speeds up. You hold still now, letting her set the pace as you grind your palm up against her.

You murmur her name against her ear, peppering the skin there with kisses as you splay your hand out across her back.

She’s close. You can hear it in her breathing as it hits her, that hitch right before she clenches hard around you and all but collapses into your chest. Each jerky thrust of her hips only further signifies her release as she rides it through.

It hits her hard. Not loudly, but intensely.

“Fuck,” Jackie breathes into your shoulder, shuddering on your lap as she clutches at you. You slip your fingers out gently to a sound of protest, squeezing her hip as Jackie pulls herself closer.

She feels so comfortable in your lap, so warm and content, that you don’t ever want her to leave. Dangerous feelings to have about your boss, but ones that feel more undeniable the longer she remains curled up on top of you.

…

It’s thirty minutes into what Jackie described as a quote, quick, five minutes—really, you should’ve known better than to trust her when you had her calendar right there—that you feel a hand on your thigh. Her hand had slipped beneath the table ten minutes ago, but it’s the first time that it’s made itself known since then.

You stiffen in your seat, gripping your pen tighter as you slowly resume taking notes. There’s a line through the last sentence you wrote, a result of you jerking your hand in surprise, that you already dread having to copy over later. That was, presumably, the reason she dragged you along to this meeting in the first place. You’re starting to suspect she has ulterior motives for the whole thing.

She sneaks a peek at you as she rests her head on her hand, a carefully bored expression betrayed only by the way her lips twitch into something of a smile when she catches you staring back. Her hand slides up higher now that she can watch the journey your face goes through as you try to hide it. You can feel the blush crawling up your neck as you stare down at the notepad.

Jackie squeezes once, her touch lightening up for a moment before you nudge her leg with your knee. It only emboldens her.

You’re afraid of being pulled into HR later, but the way that the woman from HR is very carefully avoiding looking at either of you negates that possibility in your mind. You wonder what Jackie must have on her, considering how much joy Misty always takes in handing out violations and pulling people into her office.

The thought of Jackie blackmailing the HR lady has you squirming in your seat for an entirely different reason. It makes sense that your boss must have screwed over a lot of people to get where she is now, but you’ve never really thought about it all that much. Then, you think of your friend that Jackie had fired for nothing more than overhearing the two of you gossiping about your date. Gone like that with nothing more than a snap of her carefully manicured fingers.

Jackie was never shy about lauding that power she has over you, over everyone in her office, but the thought of it extending outside of even that was delightful. She was a handful, wasn’t she? Speaking of a handful—

She squeezes your thigh suddenly, fingers higher than they were before. It’s rougher this time, nails digging into skin through the fabric of your slacks like she’s trying to bruise you. A punishment for zoning out when she so obviously wants your attention. It’s not like you can explain to her that you’re thinking about her anyway, so all you can do is take it as you try not to visibly react in the middle of the meeting.

That woman can have such a temper when she wants to. You aren’t about to stop her from taking it out on you.

Jackie leans in, lips almost pressed against your ear as she whispers, “Pay attention.”

“...Of course,” you say, feigning a helpful smile. It’s hard to act respectful to someone whose tongue was in your mouth on the car ride here. The little smirk on Jackie’s face tells you that she feels the same.

“Maybe we shouldn’t…” Jackie says, sounding unconvinced even as she speaks the words. Maybe you would believe her more if it wasn’t the third time she’s said it only to kiss you again

“Shut up,” you murmur, one hand on her chin as you stop her from looking away. “You wouldn’t have spent twenty minutes feeling me up in that meeting if you didn’t want it.”

Her grin is devilish as it breaks her look of innocence as she shrugs, pushing the door to her office shut behind you with one heeled foot as she wraps her arms tighter around your shoulders. “Can’t a girl add some spark to her relationship without wanting something?”

“This one can’t.”

She kisses you again, which is answer enough.

Everyone else on the floor was away at lunch, a fact Jackie had assured herself of after walking out of the elevator after your meeting. It had only taken one quick glance before she had pulled you down by the collar of your shirt into that first kiss, and it had only escalated from there.

You’re dimly aware there are cameras around the floor even if not in her office, a fact she had slyly mentioned to you a few days prior, but Jackie doesn’t seem to mind that she’s potentially giving security a hell of a show. Knowing her, she probably found a way for the cameras to mysteriously be down before you even left the meeting.

“Eager,” she accuses breathlessly as the two of you stumble into her office until the backs of her thighs hit her desk. Jackie starts to lift herself up onto it, already an idea formed in her head about what you’ll be doing.

You surprise her, for once, pulling her close and then spinning her around with hands on her hips. There’s not even an ounce of hesitation in her as she lets you lead her, laughing in startled delight as she braces her palms against the wood, her chest pressing flat against the surface as she wiggles her hips back into you.

You have to slap her hands away as she reaches behind her for the zipper of her skirt, briefly devolving into a little spat as she twists her head back to glare at you before you grab it yourself to pull it off of her.

She mutters something under her breath as her fingers grip the edge of her desk hard enough for her knuckles to whiten, spreading her legs wider as she’s freed from her tight skirt. You pull her panties off next, already soaked from a combination of her toying with you in the meeting and the fooling around on the way here. These you don’t carefully fold up like you did her skirt, instead surreptitiously slipping them into your pocket for later.

Jackie, utterly unaware of what's going on behind her, arches herself higher without a thought of shame in a silent reminder that she was still here. As if you could forget with the way she looks bent over her desk. You pop her on the ass, barely hard enough to sting but enough for Jackie to make an affronted noise and try to push herself up onto her elbows.

That you stop quickly. One hand pressing down between her shoulder blades is enough to make her go prone again, squirming beneath the touch until you slip a hand between her legs. You couldn’t resist the urge, not with her bent over like that in front of you. She was practically asking for it. Besides, she’s easy to make things up to.

“You're so wet,” you say, sighing as you make contact. You don't touch her where she wants immediately, and she's not a fan of it. Too used to demanding to be made to ask for it. There was time yet for her to learn. “Feel so good.”

“You're fired,” she insists.

You drag a fingertip through her, dipping inside to collect her wetness as you bring a finger up to her clit. Just a line, back and forth, over and over. Not enough to rub her off like she's so clearly aiming for as she tries in vain to move back against your hand, but enough to work her up.

“Are you going to update my job description when you hire the next one?”

Before she can answer, you start to circle your finger around her clit, firmer now and enough for her to lose her train of thought.

“Do—don't,” she breaks into a whine, “say that. I've just got you house-trained.”

“You act like I'm a dog.”

Jackie doesn't say anything.

“Jackie.” It's meant to sound chiding, but it comes out far too affectionate to achieve that.

Taking advantage of your moment of weakness, Jackie grips the desk for leverage as she grinds back against your hand. A silent plea for your fingers that you're happy to indulge her in.

Fingertips slide back, teasing Jackie before sliding right in. She moans, hips jerking backward to take them deeper.

“Fuck me,” Jackie says—no, demands—as she clenches tight around them. She takes them easily, like she always does. It feels like she was made for it, as sappy as it sounds.

“So pretty,” you say, and Jackie shudders against the desk. “Yeah? You want to hear—”

“Don't,” she interrupts, aiming for stern and falling short by a mile, “let it go to your head.”

“Of course, Ms. Taylor,” you say.

“Touch me.” A demand. Always a demand. Has she ever asked you for anything?

Would you want her to?

“I am.”

“You know what I mean,” Jackie insists.

You reluctantly removed your hand from her shoulder blades to rub her clit, an action that's immediately followed by Jackie propping herself up on her elbows to fuck herself back on your fingers. You suspect that might have been the whole point.

She was too smart for her own good sometimes, but not this time. Not with the way she moans as she buries her face into her arms, doing her best to get herself off with what little leverage she has. The muscles in her thighs tremble, exertion or pleasure you're not sure, but her heels only seem to further showcase her legs.

It doesn't take long after that, not with the two of you working together to get her off. She's nearly silent as she comes, a fact that has less to do with your performance and more to do with how she's bitten her arm. Nearly silent, because even that can't completely silence a noise you're sure would echo down the hallways.

She's come hard this time, maybe harder than you've seen her yet. Something about feeling you up in that meeting really got to her, or maybe it was just doing it in her office for the first time. You look around her office as you aimlessly rub the outside of her thigh as she breathes heavily into the desk and decide that must be it.

Jackie looks pleased as she finally stands, grabbing onto your shoulder as she straightens out. It's not so much a smile that gives her away, not in her office of all places, but the lack of the stress she was wearing in the elevator ride up.

“That's going on your performance review.”

“To be a fly on the wall in HR when you submit that,” you say.

“Maybe I'd leave that out,” she muses. “A raise, maybe.”

“A raise?” Your voice comes out higher than it should be, a little offended at the idea. Maybe you shouldn't be. It was so Jackie to try to reward you for good sex with more benefits to your job. Good behavior, good sex. What’s the difference? She was annoyingly efficient. “You're not paying me to—”

“To what?” She gives you an expectant look, but not a single second to answer, let alone think. “Do you think you can tell me what I can and can't do?”

Oh.

You shake your head.

“No,” she confirms, wrapping a hand loosely around your neck as she guides you to the other side of her desk. She keeps your head tilted toward a wall, ensuring you can't get a good look at her. “I want your mouth.”

“Oh—okay,” you agree.

“And when you're done, you're going to go out there and write me an email about why you deserve a raise. It better be persuasive, ‘Kay?”

She squeezes your cheeks together in a way you're entirely too aware is unflattering, shaking you lightly back and forth before bringing her hand down across your cheek. Harder than last time, but still careful enough not to leave a lasting mark. Probably too aware of what people would think if you came back from your lunch break with a bruised face.

You open your mouth as she presses her fingers against your lips, middle and ring fingertips rubbing against your tongue as you close your lips around them. Jackie hums pleasantly when you start to suck, tongue running along the outside of her fingers and then slipping between them. She just watches until she gets bored of it, smearing her spit-soaked fingers across the lower half of your face until she tires of that too.

“Hold this.” Jackie lifts the end of your tie up to your mouth, nodding encouragingly as you hesitantly bite the end of it. You sink to your knees shortly after, a result of two unblemished hands pushing down on either shoulder.

She sits back regally in her office chair with an ease you're almost jealous of.

“Thanks,” she says as she gently pulls the tie free, almost immediately yanking you forward. Your hands grip her thighs, splayed out wide to support her as she scoots further down in her chair to throw a leg over your shoulder.

“You look good on your knees. Should keep you there, don't you think?”

You gape up at her, searching for a reply that Jackie doesn't actually want to hear as she pulls you in. Just like that, you have a mouthful of Jackie Taylor's cunt.

Jackie fists the tie around her hand, wrapped tightly as she holds you right where she wants you. One leg over your shoulders as you do less of eating her out and more of staying still while she fucks your face however she pleases. All you can do is flatten your tongue and let her use your mouth.

“Just like that,” Jackie praises, rocking her hips to press more of her clit against your tongue. She's relentless, riding your face like you haven't already made her come today. You’re not sure you can ever get enough of her. Thankfully, the feeling is mutual.

It was hot. Hot, wet flesh rubbing against your tongue. Your lips. The way she smears herself across your face, mixing in with the spit left dripping from your open mouth. Wet, messy, and perfect. Right on her office chair—the place you've imagined having her for months.

Some rational part in the back of your mind hopes you haven't stained your clothes too badly before you have to go back out.

You can't get any breaths around Jackie's thrusting, but that wasn't a problem. You took every breath she allowed you for what it was: a gift.

Grateful.

She likes you grateful.

Jackie ruts mindlessly against your tongue, her heel digging into your back through your shirt as she tenses and gasps. You grab onto her thighs then, your mind finally catching up to you as you help work her through her orgasm now that she's a little too relaxed to do it herself.

The lazy thrusts finally come to an end when she can't stand it anymore, letting go of your tie and absently tugging it looser just to watch the way you pant for air on your knees in front of her. She’s gentler now in the aftermath, not that she was ever that rough. But it was nice.

Jackie was something of a cuddler, you’ve noticed. It wasn’t something she could really indulge in at the moment, and given the hint of a pout gracing her lips, it seems to take a toll on her.

“Well?” Jackie says finally, patting a hand against your cheek patronizingly. She checks the time on her computer, starting to pull away now that she’s made the most she can of your lunch break. “Don't you have an email to write?”

Look. You take a lot of shit from Jackie. Most of the time it was hot, really hot. The kind of hot that makes you shift in your seat and count down the minutes until you can take care of it, one way or another. But this was a little too much, even for you. That Ms. Taylor thing can really go to her head.

Jackie squeals as you yank her legs back apart, cursing under her breath as you dive back into her cunt. She doesn't protest, far from it, as she grabs a fistful of your hair and squirms beneath your tongue. You have to make an effort to hold her down now, to keep her from pulling away entirely. She's far too sensitive for such direct attention, but the fact that she can barely stand it is part of what makes it so good.

It's so good it brings tears to her eyes, silent ones that trail down her face and past wide-open lips as she cries out.

“I’m just gonna go wash up,” you say, lips brushing against her knee before pressing a departing kiss against it.

Jackie nods wearily, still catching her breath as she slumps back into her chair. You can hear her quiet breathing as she lets her eyes slip shut as you leave, carefully shutting the door behind you even though there’s no one outside her office.

By the time you get back from the bathroom, most of your colleagues have returned from lunch, and you slip in perfectly fine with the crowd. Not that it would’ve been suspicious that you’d worked through lunch with how hard Jackie always drives you.

Speaking of Jackie, her office door has been propped back open like normal to maintain that open-door policy she always likes to go on about. Her face is carefully flushed as you peer in, letting her know you’ve returned from lunch like you always do. Jackie’s legs are crossed tightly beneath her desk as she gives you a look that’s just the right amount of panicked.

You pat the left pocket of your slacks meaningfully, grinning as she pales slightly at the gesture. She presses her legs tighter together, squirming in her seat. You slip your hand in your pocket as you walk back to your desk, carefully fingering the lace of her panties.

#minors dni #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets x you #jackie taylor x reader

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wordsofwhimsy · 1 day ago

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okay but the comic has shown me just how hard he struggled at first to balance life & his powers so have this angst

Exhaustion crept into every inch of Mark’s skin and settled over him like a thick fog.

His eyes were heavy, as if someone had laid coins over both lids. Fire felt like it’d curled closely around his muscles, pleading with him for the sweet release of sleep. His body demanded it—needed it after the hell he’d fought through that day.

But his mind was restless. The clock read 2:03am in its taunting green glow, the ceiling light above him still on. There was no point in turning it off. He knew that repose was nothing more than a misty hope for another day. Tonight, undoubtedly, he’d lie awake until the morning. Wrapped in thoughts of you.

His gaze was fixed on the ceiling; namely on a particular cluster of dried stippling that, the longer he looked, swore had the same curve of your cheek. The same pattern of your hair when you tossed your head back in laughter. The same shape of your lips, poised perfectly to whisper his name.

He pinched his eyes shut, turned away and onto his side, but your image still haunted him in his mind. Even clearer now. So unmistakably you. It felt like his bones were turning into cement, pressing him down deeper into the mattress. Something nauseating curdled in his stomach.

How could you do this to him?

You were everything. The most stable and constant thing in his life. In every memory and every fantasy. Even the stories you weren’t apart of, he’d shared with you so many times his mind just started placing you there, too. Giving perfect dialogue that you never truly said. Accurate reels of the faces you’d make, the reactions you’d have, the feeling of peace you always left deep in his chest.

How could you take that away?

His body curled in on itself, the palms of his hands pressing harshly into his eyes as if he could physically force it all to stop. His teeth gnashed together; lips curled back as he breathed harshly out through his nose. “Fuck…” The word was choked in his throat as he harshly dragged his hand across his lashes, rubbing out any tears before they had the chance to fully surface.

Yes, he knew things had been different lately. It was the final year of high school—a coming of age moment that left everyone feeling different in their own skin. He remembered when you came back from summer vacation, having spent the entire break in a different country visiting relatives. You looked… older. More mature. A new kind of beauty that he didn’t even realize was possible.

Still, he could tell you were self-conscious of the way your body had changed. It showed in the way you started holding yourself. The way you started to dress. Like being in this new version of your existence was something to be ashamed of. But to Mark, it was like looking at his future. Like seeing for the first time a glimpse of what his forever would look like.

He loved you so much—didn’t you know that?

The night the thread was broken, and his abilities finally started to manifest, was the same night you’d called him three times with no answer. Now he could see that this was the beginning of the end.

He never got the chance to tell you what happened to him. What he was becoming. What it meant.

Would you have understood? Could you now?

With a sharp exhale he reached under his pillow and grabbed his phone. He pulled up your text history without thought. The last five messages were from him. All read. All unanswered.

But before that, it was long chain of your messages, each with no response.

Wed, Apr 30th at 12:55 PM haven’t seen you all week! you okay?? Fri, May 2 at 6:12 PM just checkin on ya. william says you’re good. want to do something this weekend? Sun, May 4 at 8:40 PM everything okay? Wed, May 7 at 3:21 PM are you mad at me? Fri, May 19 at 11:42 PM I miss you Sun, May 25 at 10:05 AM mark? Mon, May 26 at 8:54 PM got it. wont bother you again

The screen cracked beneath his grasp, and for a moment he felt panic as if he’d somehow just hurt you. But he’d already done that, for weeks, and didn’t even know. The minutes slipped into hours and bled into days. He always read your messages. Always meant to reply. To call. To see you. To tell you everything. But they say the road to hell is paved with good intentions, and this was his damnation.

He didn’t even think, his thumbs moving over the now shattered screen.

Fri, May 30 at 2:07 AM i miss you like hell. please call me

#invincible fanfic #mark grayson x reader #invincible x reader #mark grayson fanfic #mark grayson x you #mark grayson x y/n #mark grayson x gn reader #whimsical words

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lunavaeeee · 2 days ago

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Thinking about self-righteous, arrogant, F1!Katsuki Bakugo who knows he’s ‘all that’.

He’s good looking. He’s smart. He’s the definition of the devil on the track. No one could match his lap time, for all the five years he’s been racing so far. Starting out as a rookie for Ferrari, he quickly made his way to first driver after a stunning showcase when he filled in for the first driver. He was quick to surpass his peers, not only in lap times, but pure skill.

He went for everything. He committed to every pass. He felt as if the car was on train tracks, like he was the controller of the track. He was, and he still is.

So yeah. He’s cocky, and he’s arrogant, and his press skills were far beyond training, but he had every right to be.

Did I mention he was good looking?

Toothy smile, cocky grin, blazing red eyes, so firey against his spiky blond hair.

So everyone found him hot. Some of his fan base were guys who truly appreciated his skill— but 90% of it, was fangirls.

You weren’t much different. Of course you would find him hot— who wouldn’t? Fuck types, fuck preferences, anyone would break their rules for Katsuki Bakugo.

But atleast you had a genuine care and drive for racing, and did appreciate his skills beyond his looks.

So there you stood. In line for his autograph, as people scurried over to him after a big win during the pre-season races. Interviewers shoved microphones in his face, asking him questions about his race, his personal life.

He answered with a gruff, “None of your fucking business”, his face contorting in annoyance. His crew-members quickly shooed them off so fans could have a chance to talk to him.

You tapped your hand on the back of the glossed picture in your hand, a red, glittery pen for him to sign with. You’d never physically gone to a race before— this was your first time, and experiencing the rush of watching them, seeing how fast those cars went besides off television, seeing it in real time? It made shivers go down your spine.

And seeing him in real life was surreal. You were his biggest fan— following him through his rookie days. Hell, he even followed you back for a little while when his popularity was low, and had some conversations with you when you’d message him about his pre-season races when he’d fill in.

But, they soon made him unfollow everyone. You still remembered it though— but he’d never remember you.

You were nervous. Of course you were.

You slowly made your way up the line, and he didn’t look to happy about the giant line in front of him, still breathing heavily from his race, still sweating from the heat in the car.

And then you found yourself in front of him.

You blinked. It was silent between you two for a long while, looking at eachother.

Then, his brows furrowed. “Do you want me to sign that?” He said gruffly, gesturing to the picture with an annoyed look.

You quickly snapped out of your trance. “Oh! Um, yeah, sorry..” you muttered, handing him the picture and the pen. He opened it with his teeth, quickly scribbling over the paper with a messy signature.

He glanced up at you, cap still between his teeth, eyes trained on you as he finished his last name of his signature.

He looked you over. His face was still contorted with annoyance, but his eyes said a different story.

“So, are you really into racing, or just here to ogle guys?” He said with a gruff voice, closing the cap in the pen and handing you back the picture.

You blinked, taken back. “.. For the racing. I’ve always been into it. But I can’t ever race professionally, so.. I just follow it.” You muttered, avoiding his piercing gaze for a second. “I am going to school for race car engineering, though. I’m hoping to work the pits.”

“The pits, huh?” He said with furrowed brows, looking you over. “Not many woman in the pits.”

“Yeah, well.. I want to show other woman that it’s possible to still be involved in racing if your not a man.” You shrugged.

“Woman can race.”

“Yeah, but do you see any woman in F1? Hell, even F2 and F3.. it’s a male dominated sport.”

“Okay? Doesn’t mean they can’t. You could, too.”

“There’s no point in trying that.” You said with furrowed brows. “Like I said, male dominated. I’d just get undermined, even if I was skilled.”

“So you’re saying you’re scared?”

“No.” You said, “that’s not it at all. That’s like saying—“

You stopped as you realized he was smiling. That famous toothy grin. He was messing with you.

And you also remembered this was Katsuki Bakugo. Why were you arguing? Why was he so annoying? Why’d you let yourself get riled up so fast?

He narrowed his eyes. He picked up that glittery pen, yanking your wrist slightly. You gasped, taken aback by the movement before he scribbled something on your wrist.

When he let go, you realized it was a number.

He leaned close, so close. His voice dropped an octave.

“Y/N L/N, right?.” He said lowly, deeply. “I like you. Call me.”

So he did remember you.

Your brows furrowed, a deep blush settling in.

“Move it before they make rumours.” He said, standing straight again.

You blinked at him for a second. Looked down at your wrist, as he placed the pen in your palm and handed you the photo.

You processed it for a second.

“Wait, what?”

“Bakugo! Bakugo, can I get a photo, please?!”

“Yeah, whatever.” He said, his voice an entirely different one to the low, honey-glazed voice he just whispered in your ear.

I like you. Call me.

You stared at him for a second. But then, a shoulder clashed with yours, and you remembered you were still standing there like an idiot.

You shuffled to the side, returning to your friends, not without taking out your phone, and putting his number in your contacts with a deep, ruby blush.

#fanfiction #writing #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo mha #mha #mha fanfiction #mha bakugou #mha x reader #katsuki x you #katsuki x y/n

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thescarletfang · 2 days ago

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SPINNING OUT: jack abbot x ex!freader (coming soon!!)

currently at 4.3k words and counting (not even halfway thru) for this angsty (but soft! and HEA) Abbot x ex!freader fic and i finally feel like i'm getting into a *~ groove ~* with it.

(terrible) summary: You left Jack three months ago, convinced he'd given up on your marriage. An accident leads you back into his life. (omg this summary is SO BAD but basically, jack and reader have been separated for 3 months. reader is hit by a drunk driver, taken to PTMC. what is supposed to be an ending gives way to a new beginning).

here's a little sneak peek:

***

Jack rolls his shoulders, shutting his locker and heading into the ED. Fuck, what he’d give for a quiet night and the ability to get through this shift without feeling like he’s white-knuckling life. It’s bad enough he had a fucking panic attack on the way in here. He’s been having those more and more often, despite being on his daily dose of an SSRI. His therapist tells him he needs to take a break, to finally cash in on all his accrued time off but he just grinds his jaw and says no.

Work is good. When he works, he can focus on anything but the absolute trainwreck that is his life.

When he works, he can stop thinking about you.

It’s a lie, of course, but Jack’s always been good at lying to himself.

He sees you in everything he does. Misses you with an ache that feels like a stone on his chest. On the really rough nights, where he feels like he’s barely treading water, he gets closer to the edge of the roof than he ever has.

Jack shakes his head, wrapping his stethoscope around his neck, holding on to the ends of it like it’s a tether that can keep him sane.

One moment at a time, his therapist told him. One shift at a time. One second, every single day, at a time.

Jack takes a deep, steadying breath. Losing himself in his work is enough, if only for tonight.

Jack knows something is wrong the minute he steps into the ED.

Robby is rushing in through the trauma bay, rolling a gurney and barking orders at Shen and Ellis. He looks up and locks eyes with Jack.

“Get him out of here,” Robby yells to Dana, who has just thrown on her jean jacket to head home. Dana’s eyes go wide and as the gurney rolls past her, she looks at whoever is on it and pales. She beelines for Jack.

Jack’s heart thuds painfully against his sternum. He picks up his pace, gently brushing past Dana and making his way to Robby.

“It’s my shift, dunno why I’d need to get out of here,” he says calmly to Robby, trying to remain in control but he already knows who’s on that gurney. He already knows because the universe fucking hates him.

It isn’t enough that you left him three months ago and the last three months have been a living hell every single day. It isn’t enough that it was his fault you left, that he’d pushed you to the end of your rope by pulling away, by shutting down, by letting those voices in the dark consume him. It isn’t enough that he continually put his work before you because work is the only thing to make him feel worthy of anything, and he regrets it, will regret letting you slip through his fingers every single day for the rest of his fucking life.

It isn’t enough that you’re the love of his life and he’s such a stupid fucking old man, forever convinced he never deserved you in the first place. Self-sabotage has been his best friend a long time, lurking over his shoulder and shadowing every move he’s ever made.

It isn’t enough he’s been through this once before. He’s not even officially fucking fifty-years-old and he’s already lost a wife and he’s about to lose another. Jack Abbot doesn’t get second chances.

Jack Abbot reaps the fucking karma that he sows.

“Dana, get him out of here!” Robby yells again, rolling you into T-1.

“C’mon, honey,” Dana tries. “You don’t wanna see this.”

But it’s too late. Jack’s quick on his feet, even with the prosthetic, and he sees you lying there, unconscious, blood-matted hair and it’s dripping from your mouth and he can’t believe that this is happening, that this is real, that it is happening to him again.

Robby steps to him at the door of the room. “You can’t be in here.”

There’s a sharp ringing in Jacks’ ears, high-pitched and drowning everything out. His voice is gravely and broken. A desperate plea rather with no real bite. “Like fuck I can’t, man. Get out of the way—”

“Jack, I mean it, brother.” Robby blocks him again, his nostrils flaring. “Get out.”

“That’s my fucking wife!” The words silence the ED, cutting through the chaos sharply. Ellis and Shen look up, shock over their faces. They’ve never heard their attending lose his cool like this. Jack is the calm one. While Robby is the attending who is more inclined to raise his voice, Jack never falters. Residents and students and the nursing staff follow him blindly because they know he never loses his cool.

Well, he’s losing it now.

Dana puts a hand on her chest like it hurts.

Robby’s cold facade slips for a second and for a moment he’s just Jack’s friend, his brother, and the pain is written in his face, a pain mirroring Jack’s own.

Jack’s breathing heavily, his voice cracking on the last word because it’s true, you’re still his wife.

He can’t lose you. Not when everything is so wrong.

#dr jack abbot x you #dr jack abbot x reader #dr jack abbot x f!reader #dr jack abbot #coming soon #jack abbot angst #hea #title inspired by the valencia song 'spinning out'#really showing my age here #i just wanted a pining jack okay #Jack abbot is a wife guy let’s be so fucking for real

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heartsforkatsuki · 1 day ago

Note

IM LOVING ALL THE WX BAKUGO DRABBLES AND FICS OMG I USED TO PRAY FOR TIMES LIKE THIS💔

If you do requests could i request a type of exes to lovers story where him and reader kinda got into it cause it seemed like he was cheating ( he wouldnt fucking do that ik its for the plot)

And he thought reader didnt trust him and stuff so it led to them kinda falling out, but they talk and makeup after maybe a few months and everythings slowly okay again 🙏🥲

why hello anon... tysm for the request!! this took a minute, i wrote it liek the day after the inbox but i didnt feel like formatting it until now LOL , here yall gooo!

just right. ｡°✩ k.bakugo

pairing; ex!katsuki x reader

content; katsuki being a stubborn asshole, cheating (sort of), cursing (duh.)

katsuki was the type of guy to be worried all the time. about his job, his friends, and especially you.

but right now? he felt at peace.

these past months were messy, and he spent each second anxious and angry at everyone in sight. but today? these past few days? they fixed everything.

you guys broke up about 6 months ago, and boy, was it messy.

he’d been staying late for work for around 3 weeks before you finally asked him about it.

“hey, kats?” you paused the tv show you were watching and looked over at him.

“yea sweets?” he looked up at you for a moment before going back to chopping vegetables for dinner.

“why’ve you been coming home so late? you usually never stay that late.” you fumbled with the hem of your pajama top.

“a lot of paperwork reports from that recent villain attack, it was a lot of injured civilians and mass crowds.” he shrugged, continuing his cooking.

after that, you let it pass for a bit, deciding it was just work. but then you started seeing him get messages from someone all the time, even at night.

you’d look over on his nightstand while he was asleep, his phone lighting up with messages.

HANAKO: Bakugo, are you awake? I need help with something.

if you weren’t suspicious before, now you definitely were.

after another week of those messages, you decided to ask him about it again.

“katsuki, who the hell is that girl who keeps texting you?” you asked, standing across the kitchen island with your arms crossed.

“what girl?” he asked as he drank his coffee.

“hanako.” you pressed.

“she’s my new secretary.” he shrugged. “remember, my last one got ill?”

“she texts you all the time. even when you’re asleep. you sure that’s just what it is?”

“y/n, what are you trying to imply?”

“i’m not implying anything, i’m just asking you a question.” you layed your hands flat on the counter. “you’ve been coming home at midnight, and when you’re home early, this chick keeps texting you.”

you look to the side where his phone is, lighting up with her name yet again.

“see?!” you threw your hands up in the air hopelessly.

“i don’t see anything because they’re isn’t anything going on.”

“god katsuki, im not blind!” you yelled, waving your hands for emphasis.

“if you seriously don’t trust me, say that!” he yelled back, slamming his mug down.

“maybe i don’t! you’ve been secretive, not coming home and not giving good explanations for it, and this stupid chick keeps blowing up your phone! she’s clearly flirting with you in those messages!”

“you went through my phone?!”

“i.. yes! fuck! i did!”

he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “you got it, y/n. you freaking got it. i’m out. if you don’t trust me , there’s nothing here anymore.”

after that, he packed his bags and left without a word. you stood, speechless. but if he was cheating, it was for the best.

and right now, you’re sitting together, curled up on the couch of that same apartment, connected by a blanket, watching your favorite movie.

katsuki thought back to how you guys ended up back here. it killed him not having you in his life, but god was he stubborn. he didn’t want to cut no contact and seem desperate, so he kept going with it.

a week ago, you ran into each other at a local bar. he was out with some kirishima and some co workers, and you were out with your girlfriends.

“y/n?” you heard behind you, as you were ordering your drinks at the bar. you recognized that voice anywhere.

you spun around, “katsuki?” you cocked your head to the left.

“how’ve you been?” he eyed you up and down. “you… look good.” he gave one firm nod.

“thanks.” you smiled, softly. god, it’s never been so hard to talk to him before. “you look.. good too.”

you guys chatted a bit, and he apologized for leaving so abruptly. he cleared everything up without really avoiding the topic, thoroughly explaining himself.

“so, yeah. to sum it up, i was an asshole. and i’m sorry.”

“no, i’m sorry, i should’ve never accused you anyways.” you shook your head, waving your hands to wave off his apology.

he paused, as if he was thinking of what to say next.

“can we try again?”

“what?” you stilled in your stool.

“can we try again? dating. i still love you, i was just being a stubborn asshole.”

“i..” you looked over to your friends at the table behind you. they were all giving you thumbs up with smiles of support so, you turned back, “yes. yea. of course.” you smiled.

now, you were watching lady and the tramp as katsuki stroked your hair and kissed your scalp.

“y/n.”

“yeah?”

“i love you, you know that?”

“i love you too.”

yeah, this felt just right.

#heartsforkatsuki #mha #mha x reader #x reader #mha fluff #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou #katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki #katsuki fluff #bnha bakugo katsuki #katsuki x you #katsuki bakugo mha #mha bakugou #bnha x reader #bnha bakugou

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goldfades · 2 days ago

Note

hi! congrats on your 6k! may I please request "10. I know you're struggling right now, and it's okay, okay? we'll get through this." with luka. not sure if that would be fluff or angst. I feel like he'd be such a gentle giant. :) thank you!

this would be soooo angst to comfort, my fav trope<3 thank you so much my love, hope you enjoy!

warnings: hurt to comfort, mentions of anxiety

You don’t mean to cry in front of him.

That’s the first thought that crosses your mind as your back hits the side of his couch and your hands go to your face like maybe if you cover your eyes, you can somehow erase the moment, make it less humiliating.

But your breath is already hitching in your throat, and the tears are hot and fast and way too loud in the silence of his apartment. You try to turn your body away, to curl into yourself like maybe he won’t see the worst parts of you unraveling.

Too late.

You know he’s already seen it.

“Hey,” Luka says softly from behind you. “Hey, no, come here.”

You don’t move.

You can’t. It’s like every nerve in your body is locked down tight, coiled up in a knot of exhaustion and shame and frustration you’ve been holding in for weeks. Months, maybe.

Work’s been hell. Your phone won’t stop buzzing with people who want things you can’t give. You haven’t been sleeping. Haven’t been eating right. Your anxiety hums behind your ribs like a broken wire, constant and burning.

And for some reason, tonight was the breaking point.

It wasn’t even a fight. Just Luka asking how your day was. So simple. So kind. And the second he said it, your chest cracked open like a dam.

You hadn’t planned to fall apart in his living room. You especially hadn’t planned to do it while wearing the hoodie he gave you last week or after he spent the entire day trying to make you smile. Taking you out, letting you pick the movie, carrying your grocery bags without being asked.

Now here you are. Crying into your hands like a child, your voice choked and small as you whisper, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

His footsteps are slow, measured and then you feel the weight of him as he crouches down in front of you, one of his large hands gently wrapping around your wrist.

“Don’t do that,” he says, his voice lower now. Steady, but so full of warmth it makes you ache. “Don’t apologize.”

You finally let him pull your hands from your face, and he holds them like they’re something precious. Like you’re something precious.

When your eyes meet his, there’s no judgment there. No confusion. Just concern, and something else — something soft, protective.

“I know you’re struggling right now,” he says, eyes searching yours. “And it’s okay, okay? We’ll get through this.”

You blink hard. More tears fall. That word we, wraps around something deep inside you and holds tight.

“We?” you echo, voice trembling.

He nods, fingers tightening slightly around yours. “Yeah. We. Me and you. You’re not doing this alone.”

You swallow, and it feels like glass going down. “I just feel like… I’m constantly failing. At everything. At work. At being present. I don’t even know who I am right now.”

“You’re tired,” he says. “And overwhelmed. That doesn’t make you a failure.”

He shifts to sit beside you, pulling you gently into his side like you’re something fragile but worth saving. You go willingly, your cheek landing on his chest, your fingers fisting in the fabric of his hoodie. His arms wrap around you completely, grounding you in the warmth of him, the quiet strength he never brags about.

“You don’t have to keep it together all the time,” he murmurs against your hair. “Not with me.”

You let yourself lean into him, fully now. It’s the first time in days, maybe weeks that your body has relaxed. Even slightly.

“I feel like I’ve been holding my breath for so long,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says. “So let it out. I’m here.”

His hand rubs slow circles across your back. It’s nothing grand, no dramatic gesture but somehow, it’s everything. You feel the weight start to shift, the unbearable lightening just enough for you to finally inhale without pain.

“I don’t want to be broken,” you admit quietly. “I want to be better.”

“You’re not broken,” he says immediately, almost fiercely. “You’re human. You’re allowed to have bad days. You’re allowed to fall apart. That doesn’t make you weak.”

You sit there in silence for a long time after that. His thumb traces slow patterns along your forearm. His breathing is steady, like he’s trying to sync yours to his and maybe he is.

Eventually, you speak again.

“I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

He smiles, gentle but sad. “I want to see you like this.”

You look up at him, confused.

“I mean, I don’t want you hurting,” he explains, brushing a tear-streak off your cheek with the back of his knuckle. “But I want to be the one who gets to show up for you. Not just for the good stuff. For all of it.”

The knot in your chest loosens just a little more.

“And what if I keep falling apart?” you ask.

“Then I’ll keep helping you put the pieces back together.”

You don’t know what you did to deserve him.

Or maybe you do. Maybe this — this is what love actually looks like. Not the perfect, shiny version people post about, but this quiet loyalty. The kind that kneels next to you when you’re crying on the floor and doesn’t flinch. The kind that holds your hand and says we instead of you.

Your voice is small when you say, “Thank you.”

Luka leans down, presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he says. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You close your eyes and breathe in the scent of him; clean, warm, familiar. For the first time in days, you feel safe.

The world outside is still loud, still hard. But in this room, in this moment, wrapped in his arms and his promise, it feels manageable. Bearable.

You’re still struggling. But you’re not alone.

And that makes all the difference.

my 6k celly!

#evangeline's 6k celly!#nba x reader #luka doncic #luka doncic x reader #luka dončić x reader #luka dončić

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witchygagirlwrites · 2 days ago

Text

Us Again-Part 4

Greg “Mouse” Gerwitz x Reader (nicknamed Tink)

You’re finally discharged to go home

Warnings: mention of injuries, mention of past sex, depressive thoughts, nakedness(innocent), a little flirting

Will, Connor and your neurologist Dr Kristy Deangelo had run so damn many tests on you, you were fairly certain if they turned the lights off you would glow from the radiation. You knew it was precautions. They didn’t want to release you to go home only for something to happen and your health go south on Greg. When the results came back that besides your injuries from the wreck and the amnesia you were healthy the discharge plan was put into place.

“So, last chance?” you asked Greg with a small smile. He shook his head “Never” you could see your wedding rings dangling on the chain with his dog tags. He hadn’t taken them off as far as you knew. You stared at them for a second, wondering if you should try to put them on, try to force yourself to act like this was normal. Maybe if you pushed the familiarity it would help your memory?

“One step at a time sweetheart. Healing isn’t a sprint” he spoke and you raised your eyes to his “Have you always read my mind or is it a new thing since the wreck apparently jumbled so much shit around?” he grinned “I’ve had a fairly easy time reading you since we started dating. Before that? It was harder” you laughed “Oh, so you’re telling me a few kisses and maybe some sex was all it took for you to read my mind?”

A light blush graced his cheeks “Maybe not sex, just when we started talking more and spending more time together. You were opening up more to me. I learned your facial expressions and how to read them”

“You paid that much attention to me?” you asked and he nodded “You were my girlfriend. That was my job and not to be superficial here but you are pretty freaking beautiful” you felt your face warm as you waved your right hand over your body “Oh yeah, who wouldn’t want this? Broken parts and a broken brain to match”

He shook his head “Your brain isn’t broken. It’s just hurt. It’ll heal just like your arm, your leg and all your other parts. We just have to give them time. We’ll do your therapy and listen to the doctors and do whatever needs to be done to help you get better”

“They’re releasing me tomorrow Greg. I’m going home to a home I don’t know. Hell you’re gonna have to walk me around it so I don’t get lost trying to find the bathroom. I feel horrible because you married a spirited detective who had been with you for years. Someone who knew you inside and out. A woman that could work alongside her unit on any case and not blink an eye as she backed her team. Now you just have me”

He held your eyes as he took your hand “You are her. You’re the same woman. I love you, that hasn’t changed and never will” you nodded slowly “I’m sorry, maybe I’m just already aggravated with my own self” he smiled softly, thumb rubbing the back of your hand “Don’t worry about it, I’m used to it”

You were sitting on the edge of the bed. You knew you had to ride in the wheelchair down, Greg had gone to move his truck to the front. You were talking to Will and April. “So, I’ve been shot twice?” you asked and April nodded “Once was through and through. Once you kind of scared us all”

You grimaced “Damn, Intelligence is an active unit” Will laughed “Oh, you don’t know the half of it”

About that time the door opened and Greg walked back in, “Your ride’s waiting” you smiled “Then lets roll”

_____________________

April and Will had walked Mouse through so much stuff the last few days he felt like he had a crash course in med school. He knew how to help you get in and out his truck without hurting yourself. He knew how to change the bandages from the surgery where they had to repair your spleen and even how to help you bathe and wash your hair without hurting your staples or skull any.

He cut his eyes at you where you sat in the passenger seat when he got to a redlight and you smiled “I still remember you’re Greg Gerwitz. Nickname Mouse. My husband” he laughed lightly “Good to know sweetheart” and turned his eyes back to the road. He caught himself more than once starting to reach his hand across to lay on your leg but that was just habit. He could break himself from that.

When he pulled up in front of the building you and he owned a place in you looked up at it “What floor are we on?” he cut his eyes at you “The second. That’s why I got the wheelchair” you nodded slowly “I’ll use it going up but time we get into our place I’m out the wheelchair” he smiled “Yes ma’am”

___________________

You were nervous as Greg stopped in front of the dark wooden door and unlocked it. The expectations that you felt were drowning you. It was like if your memory didn’t slam into you the moment you made it inside you would disappoint everyone.

Once the door was unlocked he pushed you inside. You took a deep breath. The living room was set up nicely. Dark, overstuffed furniture that looked comfortable. There was a television and a bookshelf with quite a few books. Photos lined the walls. There was a throw blanket on the back of the couch. It felt cozy.

He put the brakes on the wheelchair as he closed the door and walked around to you with the crutches in his hand “I can move everything around” you shook your head “I can do this” and reached for the crutches. He helped you to stand and you grunted under your breath but got your balance about you and gave him a small nod “See? I’m good”

He was watching you carefully, like you may just fall apart at the seams if he looked away. “Ok, what do you want to see first?” you looked around the apartment “It’s nice. I like the furniture” he laughed “You should, we spent two weeks picking out what set we wanted”

He motioned to the hallway “We have a guest bedroom, has a guest bath down the hall too” then motioned to another door “That’s the master bedroom, it has a master bath off of it” he motioned to the kitchen with a grin “Kitchen” you grinned “Really? That’s what that thing is?” he shrugged “Testing what memory you have”

You shook your head “Can we sit down?” he nodded and waved to the couch. You moved that way. It was still an extremely slow progress and it hurt like a bitch but you could do it. Once you got to the couch he offered you his arm to lower yourself down onto it.

Once you were seated he sat down a cushion away. “So, this is our home?” you asked and he nodded “This is it” you shifted, wincing a bit and he leaned up “Want me to get your meds?” you shook your head “No because then I’ll go to sleep and probably be out the rest of the night”

“Want some food?” he asked and you shrugged “Sure” he practically jumped up “Do you want takeout or do you want me to cook?” you looked up at him “Greg, take a breath please” and he smiled “I’m sorry. It’s just you’re home. When my C.O. and the Chaplain came to tell me… I thought I’d lost you”

You felt your heart flip, simply for the fact of just how apparent it was that he loved you. Your entire being was aching with the desire to remember this man but your damned brain just would not cooperate.

You didn’t know what to say. What words could offer him comfort that didn’t come off as performative? “I’m sorry that you had to get that call over there” you whispered and he smiled “I’m just happy you’re here” you nodded “Takeout is fine” “Chinese?” he asked with a smirk and you laughed “That food the other night was really good” he nodded “Coming right up ma’am” and went to grab his phone to order it.

“Where am I gonna sleep?” the question threw Mouse off when you asked it. Did you really think he’d make you take the couch? He waved a hand towards the bedroom “You’ll take the bed. I’ll sleep here on the couch so I’m closer if you need something”

You stopped eating and stared at him “No, at the very least take the guest bedroom. I hate the idea of you sleeping on a couch” he shrugged, patting the cushions “It’s a really comfortable couch. I’ll make a deal, I’ll just sleep out here until I know you’re used to the place. Ok?”

“Ok” you agreed before picking at your food again. It wasn’t long after that you were ready to call it a night, even asking for pain meds. Mouse helped you to make it to the bed before going back out to the couch. He listened until he was sure you were settled then laid down himself. He was fairly certain he wouldn’t sleep much for fear something would happen to you but at least you were there.

He laid there for a while before he finally felt sleep tugging at him so he rolled over and gave in. Might as well get a little sleep. You had no appointments for a couple days then they would start being regular.

___________________

You couldn’t sleep. Even the pain meds weren’t helping. You needed water and had forgotten to ask for a bottle. Now you refused to have to call out for Greg or call his cell phone and wake him up. No, you wouldn’t bother that man for stupid shit like you were thirsty. You could handle that.

You pushed yourself up to sitting then swung your legs off the side of the bed and fumbled for your crutches. You could do this. You got them under your arms and pushed yourself up.

You were happy now that you’d told Greg to leave the door open. It would be a pain in the ass to try to open the door otherwise.

You moved out into the living room and Greg seemed to be asleep. You moved slowly closer and when you stopped right next to the couch, he rolled over. Ok that was good. You hadn’t woke him up. You kept trudging into the kitchen. You were doing so good until you opened the fridge and knocked two bottles of water out onto the floor and cursed under your breath.

_____________________

Mouse jolted awake the moment he heard the noise. His eyes scanned the room as his body was already in movement. When he realized it was you and you were in the kitchen, his eyebrows furrowed “Sweetheart?” he walked over to you and you were leaned against the counter, tears brimming in your eyes “I’m sorry”

He shook his head “I don’t care about the water baby. I care about you being hurt. Why are you in here? I could’ve gotten what you needed” “I didn’t want to bother you for stupid shit” you whispered and he shook his head “Baby, you needing water isn't stupid. Come on, I’ll help you back to bed”

“I can do it” you whispered and he nodded “I know, I’d just rather help you”

___________________

You felt ashamed that you couldn’t even get a bottle of water without waking Greg up. God you were helpless and now he was stuck with you. Of course he then helped you back to bed.

“If you need anything, just holler. I don’t mind” he told you and you nodded slowly “Ok, I just…I feel like I’m burdening you.” he shook his head “You could never be a burden to me, no matter what. You understand me?”

You knew from the look in his eyes he believed that. He’d stay by you through the worst, most insane shit. The question you had left was simply, were you really worth all this?

“Ok, I just didn’t want to wake you” you whispered and he smiled “Wake me up. No matter what it is. Wake me up”

“Ok, I will” you promised with a small smile. He nodded “Ok, goodnight” “Night”

The next morning you woke up and could hear Greg already moving around the living room. You used your right arm to push yourself up along with your left leg. You swung your legs off the side of the bed and reached for your crutches. Your head was throbbing a bit and felt a little foggy but you were putting that more so on the fact that you’d slept better after getting into a real bed than you had the entire time you’d been in the hospital.

Just as you were getting the crutches under you, there was a knock on the door and Greg stuck his head in. The light caught his eyes and despite how messed up your head was, it pulled a smile to your face “Morning” you greeted. “Good morning” he said then nodded back towards the kitchen “I made you breakfast and I got your favorite type of coffee in decaf” “Sounds good”

He walked across the room to your side, not touching you but just being there in case you needed him. “Can I take the time to look at the photos we have on the wall?” you asked once you finally made it out into the living room. He nodded “You can take the time to do anything you want to. This is your home”

You stopped at the first photo, it was clearly from the day you and him got married. He was in a tux, you were in a cream colored gown. Your hair was done in some half up, curled style. You looked so damn happy. “I looked pretty, you looked gorgeous” you laughed and saw a light blush grace his face “Please, I was just trying to clean up well enough that no one thought I was a pity marriage”

You rolled your eyes “Please” and continued down the photos. The next was an old one. Two teenagers. You were fairly certain one was you. You looked back at him so he smiled “It’s you and Levi” “Oh” you whispered, staring at the face of your brother.

The next photo was you, Greg, Jay and Hailey in a courtroom? You looked at him and he grinned “The day they got married. I was home on leave, they called us and said meet at the courthouse in twenty minutes” you smiled “Guess I got to be her maid of honor and you were his best man?” he grinned “There was no other option”

There were a few other photos. One of Greg’s parents, a few of the unit from different times and plenty of you and Greg. “We were happy, weren’t we?” you asked and he stepped up next to you and shrugged “I’d like to think so. I’ve always made it my goal to make you happy. Since the day I met you” the look in his eyes when he stared at one of the photos of you and him made your heart ache.

“Let’s get some food so I can take my meds. I’m sure you have stuff you need to do today instead of being around the house with your wife who can’t even get water on her own”

___________________

“So, Jay called. Hailey wants to come by when they get off shift. If that’s ok?” Mouse asked you as you picked at your breakfast. You smiled “Of course” he nodded “Kevin called, Kim and Adam too. Voight said anything we needed just to let him know. Platt said she loves you and if you need anything at all”

“It’s really weird waking up with a husband and a family and not knowing them” you whispered, tears sliding down your face. He felt his heart clench “Baby.. it’s ok” you shook your head then winced, your right hand coming up to hold the side of your head. He was up and out of his chair and around the table before anything else could be said “Are you ok?”

You looked up at him and blinked slowly “Yeah, I think so. I just have a bit of a headache. Deangelo said that was to be expected until my skull started to heal further” “Are you sure?” he asked, crouching to be eye level. You smiled slightly “I’m ok Greg. I promise”

You reached a hand out to scratch at the scruff that was covering his jaw and he leaned into your touch slightly. “You need to shave” you laughed and he grinned “Yeah, you never like it at this stage. You like it fully there or fully gone”

You stared at him and for just a moment he let himself pretend you knew him. The moment passed when your hand dropped and you sighed “When does the bandages need to be changed?” he swallowed hard “April said two days tops” “Ok” you replied and motioned towards your plate “Breakfast was good”

He stood up and smiled “I’m glad you liked it.I’ll clear the table then help you to the couch” you watched him before asking “You don’t have anything you need to do today?” he shook his head “No, I took care of anything while you were still in the hospital. I’m here with you” you dropped your gaze and he wanted so badly to ask what was wrong but it seemed to throw you off when he read you like that so he ignored the instinct.

You were watching a movie with Greg. He said it was one of your favorites. You had taken the meds you were supposed to so you probably missed half of it. Every time you dozed off however he didn’t get frustrated. If you asked what you’d missed, he’d rewind the movie if need be with the reasoning “Well I’ve seen it before”

Half the day was spent like that. “I need to shower, I feel gross” you whispered and he nodded “I can help you” you shook your head “No” and he raised an eyebrow “Tink, I’ve seen it all. I’m not going to exactly touch you out of the way”

You felt your face warm from embarrassment because he seemed truly hurt that you’d imply such. “I didn’t- I didn’t mean it like that Greg” he watched you for a second before asking “Then what’s wrong with me helping you? April talked me through it, the cnas did too. I got the cover for your leg and I even know how to wash your hair”

“I’ll be fine” you pushed and reached for your crutches. You managed to get on your feet and started towards the bedroom. You weren’t sure if your response made him hesitate or if he was mad but Greg waited a second to follow you. You had actually made it into the bedroom.

You sat down on the side of the bed as he leaned against the doorframe “Now, tell me what’s really wrong”

You could feel the tears but couldn’t stop them. “You’re mourning me. I can’t blame you. If it was me, I’m sure I’d feel the same. You didn’t sign on for this. Yeah you knew me being a cop had its risks. You signed on for me dying and maybe… maybe that would have been better on you than this”

He was across the room before you could draw another breath and was crouching at your feet “Tink, look at me” you met his eyes, seeing tears in his as much as there were tears in your own “Don’t you ever say you being dead would be better on me, please. I love you, you are the love of my life. There is nothing on earth I wouldn’t do for you. I’m not mourning you, I swear. Am I hurting because I’m seeing you hurting? Yes but I’d rather have you here. We will get it all back”

“And if we don’t? If this is our life? If you’re stuck with a wife that can’t remember shit, a woman who loved being a detective who can’t go back to that, a woman who can’t get her own bottle of water at two in the morning, a woman who you have to practically fucking bathe?” he reached a shaking hand up to wipe away your tears “Then I’ll get you to fall back in love with me. I love you, not any of the rest of that. I married you, everything I have is yours baby. Please just let me help you”

You stared into his eyes, this beautiful man who was baring his heart and soul. Giving you his very life and why? He could move on and still have a future. “Ok” you whispered and he nodded”Ok” and stood up before holding his hands out “Come on, I’ll help you in there and get the clean bandages and you some clean clothes ready”

Mouse moved carefully to help you take your shirt off, his heart fell at the way your eyes dropped the moment you were bare. You were embarrassed. “Tink, you wanna know about the scars now?” he asked and you slowly raised your eyes “Sure”

Maybe that would be one way to keep your mind off the fact that you were naked in front of a man you technically didn’t know. He looked to you for permission and when you nodded he traced the scar at your collarbone “That is actually from when you were I believe fourteen. You flipped an atv”

You laughed lightly “Jesus,has my luck with anything motorized always been bad” and he grinned as he helped you get your pants off and covered the two casts before helping you to your feet and into the shower. He touched the scar at your lower back “This one was from when you first joined intelligence. You and Jay fell through a roof”

“At least it wasn’t just me that time” you breathed. He started to gently help you wash the areas you couldn’t reach, leaving you to wash your more sensitive areas. “April said I was shot” you whispered and he nodded. He touched the spot on your left side where the through and through had hit you “This one was a through and through” then his fingers found the scar two inches beside your naval “This one, this one terrified everyone”

____________________

You knew Greg was using your scars to distract you from how downright ashamed you were that he was having to bathe you. You were also curious. He leaned you over against his chest, not minding that his shirt was getting soaked as he gently washed your hair. “I’ll braid it loose when we get you dressed” he offered and you cut your eyes up at him “You can braid hair?”

He grinned “I learned for you” and saw a smile work onto your face “What was so special about me?” he let his eyes fall down to yours for a moment before whispering “Everything” then turned back to the task of washing your hair.

Once you were clean and had fresh bandages and clothes on, you had to admit you felt better. Especially when Greg gently braided your hair where none of it was tugging your staples. You got your crutches under your arms and worked your way back out into the bedroom. Why was he still here? God, a man like him could have any woman. He could move on, he had every right to leave you. Yet he still looked at you like you hung the moon.

You made it out to the living room and sat down. Greg walked out behind you and once he saw you were comfortable he tugged at his shirt “I’m gonna go change” you smirked at him “Take it off here. Only fair I get to see your chest at least” he winked at you and slipped the shirt over his head.

He was absolutely fucking gorgeous, all lean muscle. Your eyes traced the trail of hair disappearing below his jeans and when he cleared his throat you felt your face warm but a grin slipped onto his face “Nice to know even if you don’t remember me you still find me attractive” you shrugged “I lost my memory not my common sense” and he started laughing “I’m gonna go change. Jay and Hailey will be here soon” “Ok”

You started therapy in a day or two. You just hoped it would help your memory. Dr Deangelo warned that it could be the entire six to eight weeks it would take for your skull to heal before your memories could even begin to resurface. If Greg had to babysit you for two months, with you having no memory of him or longer? You were afraid you may lose your mind or what was left of it anyways.

Part 5

@forensicgirl99

@yousigned-upforthis

@shadotiger9

@elvenpirate51

#mouse gerwitz x reader #greg gerwitz x reader #greg mouse gerwitz x reader #one chicago fanfic #chicago pd fic #chicago pd fanfic #chicago pd fanfiction

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rubyvhs · 2 days ago

Text

IN MY VEINS — gojo satoru

part one, you and satoru have been going through a rough patch, but since you can’t have that, you find a way to get back to the way you used to be, but you didn’t know that more problems would arise | 4.4k

fem!reader, established relationship (dating), lots of angst, megumi deserves love, hurt/comfort, fluff, lingerie, kissing, talks of marriage, not proof-read, very last part is a kind of sneak peak into a fic with megumi within the same universe (it’s also x reader but for the purpose of this story, i made it third person)

in my veins.

gojo’s mission goes flawlessly, like it always does, and you’re left alone in your house while he debriefs the higher ups. usually, he doesn’t care what they want, will ignore them and run into your arms, exhausted from being away from you ( never because of whatever the mission was, he is the strongest, after all).

but this time, it’s like he wants to be away from you, which just can’t be the reason, right? sure, you’ve both been more irritable than usual, even megumi has noticed, he asked if you and gojo are taking a small break and that’s why you haven’t invited him for sunday dinners twice in a row.

ever since you became a part of gojo’s life, you made it a kind of tradition to have dinner at you and your boyfriend’s house with megumi, one that you’re always beyond excited to cook; sometimes you’ll even ask one, or both, of the boys to help and it quickly became one of your favourite days. but for the past two weeks, your boyfriend had cancelled and you took the brunt of it, telling megs you just don’t have time. you don’t want him to think it’s because of him, you know he can’t talk about his feelings but if he finds out gojo is cancelling, he’ll think he’s at fault and you can’t have that.

something had to change, this is eating at you in a way you didn’t know was possible, so you decide to try and fix it. for the first time in almost a month, you finally make an effort to end whatever the hell this is, you don’t even remember how it started, you just know that satoru comes home annoyed and takes it out on you, and because you’re stubborn as hell, you always give it back. that changes tonight, though.

you go to your room, find a brand new set of lingerie that’s long enough to cover your entire body while not actually covering anything. it’s the only thing you’d be comfortable wearing incase it escalated into a fight again. you can’t just walk around in a bra and underwear while you’re both yelling— though you’re praying it doesn’t come to that. you really need to stop having a pessimistic view on things, hopefully gojo will come back from his mission happy.

you cooked something very basic from your hometown, not at all japan, so it’s always a different experience for him, but more often than not, he enjoys it. and you’re dressed, you have light makeup on; this gonna work. you’ve even stowed away your stubbornness for another day, he deserves a quiet evening.

when you hear the door open, you’re in your bedroom, applying the last of your gloss. you take a deep breath, check your hair one last time, and walk out. the short hallway means in two steps you can see satoru, taking off his shoes with a groan and throwing them near the shoe rack. you bite back your tongue on telling him for the nth time that he has to put them in the damn rack.

“‘toru,” you smile, walking over to him. when he looks up, evidently tired so you’re sure he’s about to say he’s going to rest, he pauses on you. he lets his shoe fall down from his foot and leans his body back so it hits the wall. “hey, how was the mission?” you ask, genuinely interested. you’ve always cared to know about his job, you’ve always made an effort to understand jujutsu and what he goes through and just overall hear him out.

when you’re close enough to touch, he doesn’t waste time to reach out, both hands holding your waist tightly. “god, baby.” he pulls you in, resting his head in your neck, breathing you in and smelling the perfume he bought you a few years ago. it’s middle eastern, so fucking strong and feminine. he loved it immediately and when he got it for you and told you how much it cost, you swore to only use a drop once a year. you stayed true to your promise, even if he keeps telling you that that isn’t necessary, and that he’ll get you more if this one runs out, you still want this one to last. so smelling it on you now, it’s winding him down and turning him on all at the same time.

“missed you,” you wrap your arms around his neck. “how was it? did it go okay? why are you so tired? are you hurt?” you notice, only after you’re done, that you’re being overbearing so you shut up quickly. you know he doesn’t mind when you ask about him, but you don’t wanna add to any stress.

“i’m okay now that i’m back.” he kisses your collarbone a few times, leaving a last, lingering one that you’re sure will bruise softly later. “what’s all this? you look gorgeous.”

“thank you,” you pull away just enough to start taking off his jujutsu tech uniform. just the jacket for now. “it’s for my very hard-working boyfriend who i can’t wait for to come home. i wanted to surprise you a little, you’ve been stressed and i’ve missed you.” it’s pretty obvious that you’ve missed him for longer than just the few hours his mission’s been going on for, you’ve hated the distance as much, if not more, than he has, and you need it to end. you need to be in satoru’s arms again.

“missed you too.” he lets go to shrug the jacket off so he’s left in a white undershirt and the black-blue pants, god he looks good. “any other surprises?” he teases, leaning down to kiss your lips. his exhaustion is evident even in his kisses the way he very softly parts your lips, he’s still standing too far away so you all but throw yourself into him, holding onto his shirt, your bodies clashing together. it’s everything you’ve needed for the past who-knows-how-long, and you’re sure it’s the same for him.

when you pull away, it’s because you can’t breathe, but you don’t get too far away, your head falling onto his chest. you’re forgetting something, you just can’t remember— oh, the food. “i made dinner!” you exclaim and the second you see him smile, hear him laugh, everything you’ve ever felt, every inkling of doubt or anger or stubbornness, means nothing because gojo satoru is yours.

he does eventually get into more comfortable clothes, and you prepare plates for the both of you, leaving them on the kitchen island where you both usually eat if megumi’s not here, which he isn’t, thankfully. at least for now, you’d like to have some quiet time with satoru without any tension.

when he walks out of the bathroom in the most basic outfit known to mankind, you’re still so insanely enamoured, even if you’re sure he left his socks in your walk-in closet (something you warned him about a thousand times) and that his dirty clothes are definitely not in the laundry basket in your room (which you put here for him so he doesn’t need to go all the way to the laundry room) but the past few minutes, have reset your entire brain. it’s like you’re a teenager again, asking shoko if gojo would ever go for someone like you, for a non-sorcerer, for a monkey, as geto used to call you.

satoru presses a kiss to your head before taking a quick sniff of the pots. “god, that smells good, what is it?” you show him the made plate, a healthy meal combined from all your favorite things that your grandmother used to cook. your mother taught you the basics but your grams is the one who really gave you the hard hitting meals, the ones you make for your boyfriend that he goes crazy for. “i will never get tired of this.” he raves, referring to your cooking. and it honest to god makes you blush. you feel the heat rising all the way up to your face and will it to go away. you will not blush in front of your boyfriend just because he complimented you! especially because he’ll notice right away with how flustered you get.

you both sit down to eat. “so? how was it?”

he shrugs, looking down at his plate. you won’t push after this, you’ve already asked three times, but you want to make sure nothing happened. “they asked me to find geto.” your fork dropping onto the plate silences him immediately, it startles you.

“they what?” you whisper, looking up at him, meeting his eyes. “you tried and you couldn’t kill him, ‘toru—”

“i can now. i know i can.” and you only slightly doubt it, because if he says he can then he can. you trust his instincts despite that feeling deep in your gut that says he’s loves geto too much to ever hurt him. “i almost found him today but he just sent sorcerers and curses— it was a lot to handle alone, but i did.” you’re proud of him, you know it can’t be easy to kill sorcerers like himself, but if they’re working with geto on his plan, they need to die. “i’m sorry i didn’t tell you.”

you sigh, “it’s okay, i know i haven’t been the most approachable and i can’t believe i let it get to this. i love you, okay? i don’t want you to go save lives and have to come home to constant fights—”

“it’s my fault.” your eyebrows furrow, “i knew about the sug— geto mission a while ago and it’s been messing with my head. i’m sorry.”

of course he did. of course he is. you smile sadly, placing your hand on top of his on the table. he looks down at it, then intertwined your fingers. “promise we’re okay now?”

a beat, before, “promise.”

megumi texts you that gojo is acting weird the next week. you smile, thinking it means he’s happier, but it doesn’t seem so. his his next text, in response to your ‘in what way’, is ‘just weird, he’s yelling at the third grade sorcerers which isn’t like him. he had a meeting with the higher ups today, maybe that’s why’.

it hurts to know your attempt to smooth things over only worked for when he’s home because the past week, since you two made up, he’s been nothing but incredibly sweet and he spends every night in bed with you. albeit, you’ve been cooking daily so maybe that helps raise his mood significantly, but to know he’s shouting at kids? doesn’t make sense.

you tell megs that he should come over for sunday dinner tonight and it’s almost funny how long he’s typing then leaving the chat, then coming back. he settles for: ‘i don’t know’.

‘don’t worry, it’ll be great.’ he agrees immediately after than you get started on a quick dinner, ramen is supposed to be easy but when you aren’t buying it already made in a packet, you can’t seem to get the hang of it. the spices are sometimes wrong, there’s not enough brother, the noodles aren’t cooked enough or you got the wrong brand— and of course gojo is never any help, the man eats almost everything, so unless it isn’t expired or completely inedible, he thinks it’s ‘great’.

but you make the ramen anyway, praying it turns out well made. when it’s five, gojo walks through the door, a smile on his face. “hey, baby.” he calls out, throwing his shoes off and you bite your tongue as he walks over to you, kissing your hair. “food?”

“yeah! we gotta wait for megs though, why didn’t you bring him with you?” you ask, a little confused. megs always rides with gojo for sunday dinner, maybe he wanted to hang out with his friends a little longer.

“shit, we’re doing that tonight?” your lips part in shock as you stare up at him. “why didn’t you tell me? shit, shit, i didn’t offer to take him!”

“are you serious? oh my god, he probably hates me right now, i can’t believe i forgot to tell you.” you snatch your phone off the counter, pressing his contact, when he picks up, you couldn’t sound more panicked if you tried. “megumi! i totally forgot—”

“i figured, we can do it next time—”

“no, no, i just didn’t tell gojo, but i swear i made food and everything. i’ll text ijichi to pass by you now, okay? i’m so sorry, honey.”

“oh— that’s, it’s okay. thank you.”

“see you in twenty!” you hang up, a hand on your chest. that could’ve gone in a whole different direction and you wouldn’t have even blamed him. megumi’s been through a whole lot of abandonment without you adding yourself to the mix. not that you mean that much to him, but you would never dream of hurting him, he’s gone through enough.

you face gojo, a small smile on his face. “what?”

“what?” he mirrors.

“why are you looking at me like that?”

“like what?”

“like that!” you gush, slapping his shoulder.

“you’re just so good to him,” he confesses, his eyes still covered by that damn blindfold but you know he’s looking into yours, “sometimes better than me.”

you frown, stepping closer, both hands holding onto the jacket to pull him closer, kissing him. his hands find your waist but you don’t let it get past that, pulling away to reassure him. “megumi loves you, ‘toru. no one can ever beat that.” he smiles. “but i sure as hell will try.” you tease, walking away quickly before he slaps your ass, causing you to squeal. “go change!” he does, you text your dear friend, ijichi, to please get megs.

when there’s a knock on the door, finally, you pull away from gojo’s grip on your waist and hold over your lips. megumi waves once when you open the door, mumbling a ‘hey’. and you think you might just explode. you haven’t seen him in ages since you don’t ever go by jujutsu tech, and just texting isn’t enough. which is why you pull him in for a rough hug. it’s so alarming that satoru walks up to the both of you. “megumi-kan, come in.” he greets him and when you finally pull away, he does.

satoru closes the door behind the two of you, megumi shakes gojo’s hand. “gojo-sensei.” no matter how many times you tell megumi to just call gojo by his name, he refuses to, and you honestly think it’s some messed up trauma response. it hurts to think about, megumi is polite, sure, but not to this extent, he’s known gojo since he was four, he should be more than gojo-sensei now but some things never change. and gojo doesn’t seem to mind that much, in fact, it’s obvious, if only to you, that he respects him all the more for it. the both of you walk to the kitchen, gojo following behind, “thank you for inviting me,” megs says to you this time. “you know i could’ve waited till you’re settled in.”

you shake your head comfortable, “we’re okay, megs, don’t worry about us. we wanted to have dinner with you, c’mon, i made ramen.” if you were anyone else you might’ve missed the slight widening of his eyes before they return to their stoic state. as you walk away, you poke his shoulder, “i saw that!” as you walk back into the kitchen, you yell aloud, “just to let you know, i worked harder on it this time, i can feel it, it’s gonna be great!”

well, it’s something. you’re comfortable enough around megumi to try new recipes when he’s coming around but even this is too far. you don’t know what you did wrong but the ramen is questionable. the broth tasted fine, a little spicier than the young sorcerer is used to, but fine. the meat is spongy and you’re just sure this isn’t your fault. so are the noodles— this has to be because of the brand you’re using. moving into this house with gojo a year ago meant discovering the entire neighbourhood and the grocery stores so you’ve been experimenting with their noodles, this one is not it.

“how’s school?” you ask, standing up to bring out the emergency dumplings you steamed, thank god. the second you place it on the table, both men are grabbing one. at least you made one thing well.

“good,” he says after he’s swallowed, “not too many hard missions right now so they’re sending us on clean ups. we’ve been studying mostly, though.” now, that, you feel good about. knowing he’s practicing biology, chemistry, maths, it helps ease the knot in your stomach.

“yeah?”

“yeah, it’s getting progressively harder but there’s only two months left anyway.”

“what grade are you now?”

“two.” wow. that’s… wow. how many 15 year olds are grade two sorcerers? it’s as much concerning as it is impressive. “i can’t be a grade one unless someone recommends me to the higher ups.”

megumi is a quiet kid, it took a long time for him to warm up to you and it's something you take a lot of pride in considering how much you love the man, but for him to outright tell you this without any prompting, it means it's been on his mind. though you wouldn't be able to tell by just looking at him because he looks just as uninterested as he did two seconds ago before uttering the words. though that doesn't deter you, you know megs enough to press just a little.

“i’m sure lots of people would love to, no?” you spare a glance at satoru, maybe he knows something you don't. well, he usually does when it comes to jujutsu.

“i don't know, no one has yet, and it has to be a first grade or special grade. i just dont talk to enough of them to have someone recommend me.” this time you glare at your boyfriend, wanting him to say something. you’re trying to come up with anything in response but you know where your weaknesses lie and it’s jujutsu.

“don’t worry,” you sigh when gojo just shovels more noodles into his mouth. “i’m sure it’ll happen eventually. just be careful, okay?” he nods and smiles for a second before it’s back to eating. you all talk about other stuff, all varying until you end up promising to go to the market together next sunday and you can all cook together. italian cuisine this time.

once satoru puts on a movie, you pass one of the popcorn bowls to megs and the plate of almost toppling mochi to your obsessed boyfriend. “it’s really not healthy to eat this much mochi.” you start again for the thousandths time.

megumi quickly agrees, tells you he even had a couple at school today. “seriously? gojo satoru you are not—”

“oh come on! fushigoro, i don’t wanna hear another word from you, stop telling on me to my own wife!” then he faces you, a small pout on his face, “pleasee, it looks so good.” you would hope so, you made it yourself…

wife? his wife? you silently give him back his plate and glance at the younger man on your couch but he’s completely unfazed, just annoyed by gojo’s antics. not even trying to hide that he’s fazed, no he is unfazed as if he’s heard it a thousand times before. you’re apparently married and had no idea.

it’s not that you don’t want to be, you’ve dreamt of it since before you went to university, but you gave up on that dream becoming a reality in the near future after you got with the world’s strongest sorcerer. gojo has so many responsibilities and you never want to add to that, so you’ve learned to just not ask about it. not that the two of you did and he’s shut it down, you’ve just taken it upon yourself to not bring it up— and honestly, it isn’t like he did either. you’ve been with satoru for two years, so you’re due for a proposal but you’re also aware it’s not in the cards for him right now so you haven’t exactly pushed for it.

you’re all relatively quiet except for the sparse commentary, you once yelled at the male lead, gojo was quick to defend him which meant you were mad at him for the duration of the movie. once it’s over, megumi is tired enough that you send him to the guest bedroom, gojo can take him tomorrow to school since he’s going anyway.

once megumi is inside his own room, you stand up quickly to put everything away and get ready in yours. you don’t know why you feel this slight awkwardness, but you do, and it’s making it hard to be alone with satoru right now. you don’t hate what happened, you’re just completely caught off guard and your emotions are all over the place. he catches your wrist before you leave the kitchen where the two of you were putting the plates away. “hey, what’s with the hurry?”

“just getting ready for bed, you’re probably tired too, and you have a long day tomorrow.” it’s a crap excuse because you know gojo doesn’t sleep for more than three hours a night, he’ll either stay up until five in the morning and then get those three hours in or he’ll go to bed with you, and that’s what’s been happening more often, and wake up in, most of the time, four hours. you know him sleeping for long periods of time is dangerous and so you don’t press the fact as much as you used to when you first got together.

“tell me what’s wrong.” he insists and you just shrug, quickly taking your arm back and going into your room. when he follows, you’re already locking the bathroom door. slightly immature? yes, obviously. but you need to figure out your own feelings before talking to him.

the load on your chest makes you take a long, hot shower. when you’re done, you wrap a towel around yourself then step out to your walk-in closet before walking on what you’re sure is an article of his clothing. you take a deep breath, remembering megs is here. and you’re trying to be better about being such a control freak, so you just pick them up and throw them in the laundry basket yourself and then change.

you get on the bed, where satoru is sitting, “hey, baby,” he moves to grip your waist, “gonna tell me what’s wrong now?” you nod, facing him as you apply the last of your lotion onto your forearm.

“there’s nothing wrong, i was just caught of guard. when you told megs that i’m you’re wife or whatever.” god, this is so much more embarrassing than you thought it would be. “so yeah.” you add when he’s silent for more than two seconds. if he doesn’t speak you’re pretty sure you'll only humiliate yourself further.

“did you not like it?” he asks, his eyebrows furrowing. when he’s at home, he usually puts on glasses, they’re a little more draining since they don’t cover as much as the blindfold does, but after many random fights that end with you being frustrated that you can’t tell what he’s thinking, you both agreed sunglasses are best. at least you can see the rest of his face.

you’ve only seen his eyes a handful of times, if even that. one, because you know how draining it is for him to see everything without a filter and two, he gets exhausted pretty quickly without something covering him up. it’s maybe the worst curse you could’ve ever imagined would fall upon you, not being able to see the man you love’s eyes. you love satoru more than anyone else in the world and you can’t tell him you love him while looking into his eyes. you can’t hear the words from him with eye contact.

you look down from the glasses. “it’s not that, ‘toru, you just didn’t tell me or— i don’t know, it’s just— we’re not, right? not married?”

his hooks your chin with his fingers, pulling your face up. even if you can’t see his eyes, he can see yours. behind those opaque glasses, gojo sees everything, he sees you, your pain, your thoughts. “do you want to be?”

“you’re embarrassing me,” you whine, shaking your head. he laughs, pulling you in for a kiss, his hand is on your cheek, the other pulling you in by your waist and you can’t even move your hands. you didn’t expect this. when he deepens it, you pull away for a second, moan out his name, he smiles into the next kiss before moving to say, slowly,

“marry me, baby.”

your eyes hoot open and shake your head. “you’re— what?”

“marry me. i love you, and i’ll love you forever, so why can’t forever start today?” despite what anyone will say in the coming years, you love gojo so much in this moment that the fact that you’re both in bed, that there isn’t a ring, that it’s so unplanned, doesn’t even matter. because he’s here, and you’re kissing him. because when you tell him after that your one rule was that if you’re married he can’t throw his dirty laundry everywhere, he stops immediately. because the fifteen-year-old in the room next to yours saw something in gojo, saw someone worth making proud, saw someone he loves. because you love him just as much, if not more, than he does you.

meanwhile, in the room next to yours, “hey,” megumi whispers into his phone. he’s exhausted, fighting to keep his eyes open but it doesn’t matter because she called, and he’s never put anything above her since the moment he met her despite not even knowing her back then. so he breathes out a greeting, closes his eyes for a second and then shoots them back open because whatever she says can’t be missed. he can’t miss it.

“i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to call you so late, i just wanted to let you know that i was talking with nanami-sensei, and he mentioned seeing you train with satoru earlier!” he doesn’t know what to say. is this supposed to be a good thing? why does it matter if nanami’s seen him? “if he thinks you’re strong enough, he might recommend you to be a first grade.”

“how’d you know…”

“how’d i know what? wait, you’ve been trying to be a first grade? megs, i had no idea! that’s so great, i just thought you deserve it more than anyone else i know so, yeah, but i mean, i had no idea you were asking around or anything.”

“thank you.”

“of course! i mean, i haven’t done anything, and i’m not sure if he will yet, maybe he has to see you in action— wait, i’ll see if you can both go on a mission together, i can talk to him about it! i mean, i don’t know if he’s be free but i’m sure he would love to!”

“you don’t have to do all of this,” he sighs. because it’s ruining him. her kindness is one of the things megumi fell for, but if she keeps pushing it onto him, he might do something stupid like tell her. “but thank you, really.”

“oh. okay, that’s okay, it’s nothing. sorry again for calling so late, good night.” she hangs up before he can say it back and he thinks he definitely screwed something up.

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru angst #gojo angst #satoru angst #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #jjk #jjk angst #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen angst #satoru x reader #&. mine #&. gojo

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c0wboylikeharry · 2 days ago

Text

THE PACT (h.s fanfic)

(masterlist)

(taglist)

chpt 4

harry styles x fem!reader

summary: Y/N and Harry have always had a complicated relationship. They're friends, then they're not. They like each other, then they despise each other. But something deep inside can't let them stray too far apart, even as everything changes around them. Through the trials and tests of life, the heartbreaks and joys, can Harry and Y/N find their own way? Or will they stick to the drunken marriage pact they made in a time of desperation?

word count: 6k

warnings: n/a

a/n: awe they’re so happy yayayay! how can i ruin that…

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

4 | GRADUATION

Is it completely wrong to say that you’re going to miss high school? You’ve been the biggest advocate against school in general since you were enrolled in Pre-K, but still. These past four years have been different. Like all of your fondest memories will be from this time in your life. While you hope you’re never yearning to come back, and that your life will only go up from here, at least you won’t be looking back with regret. You’ve made the best of friends and so many great memories.

Even if today has been stressful as hell, you think it’s worth it. For all the good that has happened, this one hectic day isn’t too bad. Plus, it’s signifying the end of it all. An era of your life, gone in a flash. You really should’ve listened to your parents when they said high school goes by fast. Guess it was just hard to believe when you were in the thick of it. Everything changes after today, but it was fun while it lasted.

“Y/N, if you don’t get down here in the next five minutes, you’re going to be late to your own graduation!” your mom calls from downstairs, rushing you. Even though you’re already ready.

The nerves are keeping you from moving. Nerves about the future, but also the crushing anxiety of walking across that stage today. That’s scary too.

“Coming!” you yell back, staring back at yourself in the mirror and straightening out your white dress.

The students have to get to the school an hour before the ceremony to run through it all, leaving you to fester in the anxiety. Teetering on the edge of summer.

As you make your way downstairs, you try your hardest not to trip in your heels. Unlike Prom, you’re wearing wedges today, because you and your feet learned their lesson. So many blisters. Your parents are waiting in the living room as you descend from the stairs. They seem to be more excited than you are. They’ve been busying themselves by setting up the after party they’re throwing here. It’s just your friends and their families, but you’re looking forward to it.

You’re more looking forward to the after after party, though.

Your parents don’t get the chance to gush about “how grown up you look” or “where their little girl went” because a knock lands on the front door. Either someone misread the party invitation or it’s the person you’re expecting. Your father opens the door, knowing you have an irrational fear of doing it. What if it’s a kidnapper just waiting to strike? You’re pleasantly surprised when the door opens and it’s not a kidnapper. But it is the person who’ll be taking you away.

“Y/N,” your father starts, not even looking back at you, “Harry’s here.”

You can only imagine the death glare your father is giving Harry right now. From the frightened look on his face, it’s a bad one. You find it very humorous, unlike Harry. Your dad actually likes him, but he’ll do anything to seem intimidating. Harry doesn’t buy that.

“Yes, I can see that,” you reply, a smile growing on your face when Harry’s eyes lock with yours. “Thank you, Dad.”

“Oh! Harry! Come in, come in! Let me get a picture of the graduates together!” Your mom is already racing around the room in search of her phone. She’s always losing it.

Your father barely gives Harry enough room to squeeze inside, and you have to bite back your laughter.

“Mom, you can get pictures after the ceremony. We really need to get going,” you groan, finally meeting Harry down by the door. Luckily, your father has left to assist in the phone hunt.

“Just one picture and then you can go!” She gasps in glee when she finds her cellphone, stashed between the couch cushions. “Okay, stand together you two!”

Harry’s always been very nervous around your family, but you think it’s endearing. But that also means he keeps a good distance between you for the picture. One arm loosely tossed around your waist, and space for God in between. You try to side-step closer, but he shuffles away.

“Son, why are you standing so far away? You’re acting like you’re disgusted by Y/N. Is that it? Does my daughter disgust you?” your father grumbles, and you can tell he finds humor in it, but he’s going too far.

“N-no— No, sir, I-“

“Dad, cool it. You’re being mean,” you stand up for Harry, and that shuts your father up. He knows that once you’re not down for one of his jokes that it’s not funny.

“Your mother wants a picture of the happy couple, so… look happy,” he mutters, a bit peeved that his plans to be scary today aren’t working. It’s just not the day for it. Polish a rifle during dinner? Sure. Stress you out any more than you already are today? Absolutely not.

Harry’s still quite stiff despite your fathers green light, so you take matters into your own hands. Curling into his side, allowing one of your hands to land in the center of his chest while the other squeezes his waist. He happily holds you back tighter, but keeps his hands a respectable distance from any no-no zones. When the flash of your mothers camera goes off, he immediately drops his hand. You don’t have the same amount of self control, keeping your arm draped around him.

“Okay! Go! Well see you both after the ceremony!”

Now that’s a cue that Harry can follow, grabbing onto your hand and practically dragging you out the door. You yell out a quick goodbye to your parents right before the door slams. As soon as you hear it click, Harry’s shoulders slump in relief. Since you’re finally out of sight of your parents, you wrap your arms around his shoulders in a loose hug. He wastes no time in interlocking his hands behind your waist, holding you tight.

It’s been like this since Prom. Very comfortable and easy. Like starting off as friends made the transition better. It’s still the same you. You still bicker, tease one another and rant on the drive home from school. The only thing different is now you, like, kiss and stuff. But even that came naturally. As if you had been, or should’ve been, doing it the whole time. If a teasing joke goes too far, instead of slapping him upside the head, he’ll kiss you to make up for it.

Breaking the news to your friends wasn’t even that big of a deal. Mainly because it seemed everyone knew about Harry’s undying crush on you already. You even went as far as to plan a whole thing to surprise them with, but it fell through. When he accidentally kissed you goodbye when lunch period ended, the cat got out of the bag by itself. No one really had anything to say, just that they were happy you both woke up. It’s all just been so…easy. Maybe too easy��? No! No! You will not self-sabotage this!

“Your dad actually hates me,” Harry sighs, bringing you back to the present, an over exaggerated pout on his lips. You can’t help yourself from rising to your toes to kiss them. That makes the frown disappear quickly.

“He doesn’t hate you. He’s just trying to scare you.” Your thumbs draw random shapes into the patch of skin under his ears as you speak.

“Well, it’s working. Consider me frightened,” he jokes, pulling you flush against his chest so he can rest his chin on the crown of your head.

“I’ll make sure he lays off of you,” you mutter against his dress shirt. Before pulling away, he kisses your hair, sending butterflies to your stomach. “C’mon, we’ve gotta go. Don’t want to be late for our own graduation.”

He groans, reluctantly releasing his grip on you. But the absence of his touch doesn’t last for long since he’s reaching out to grab your hand, even though the car is just a few feet away.

“Can’t believe we’re graduating already,” he speaks his mind as you stroll toward the curb. When you reach the car, he opens the passenger door for you, assisting you inside. “Your birthday is coming up… I’m excited.” He smiles at you as you buckle in. “First one with you being my girl.”

And the unrelenting butterflies are back. In fact, they never seem to ever fully leave when you’re around him. But when he calls you that, they go crazy.

“First one knowing me at all,” you comment.

“That makes it all the more important.”

You laugh lightly, rolling your eyes. “Get in the car, idiot.”

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

Graduation is burning with a capital B. If you’d known you’d have to sit through at least one billion one hour long speeches from faculty and classmates you’d never met, you probably wouldn’t have come. All the speeches are the same, as if they all sat in a room and compared notes. You’re not sure how much longer you can listen to a geriatric person or overachieving student tell you that they’re “so proud.”

The only silver lining of this whole day is knowing what comes after. And who you’re sitting next to. If you had to be stuck out in the sun for three hours, in a dark blue grad gown and a stupid matching cap that keeps falling off with anyone else, you fear you would’ve rushed the stage in protest already.

Harry’s making this situation a bit more bearable.

His idea of trying to make this whole thing go by faster is to play eye-spy. Yes, that game you played as a child with your family on a road trip. You and Harry have gone through the entire list of colors, and somehow he’s still going.

“I spy with my little eye something…black.”

“Both of your eyes in about five seconds if you keep making us play this stupid game,” you grumble, allowing your head to fall onto his shoulder.

“Wow, threatening violence now?” he teases, shimmying his shoulder so your head bounces around. “In front of all of these witnesses?”

“They’d agree with my actions.” You’re half-asleep at this point.

“We’d now like to invite our graduates to walk this stage and into their futures,” our principal’s voice echoes across the field as the front rows of students line up.

You and Harry still have a ways away being all the way in the back, but you can tell he’s nervous. At least he’ll be too preoccupied to play eye-spy anymore.

All week he’s been conjuring up any horrible thing that could possibly happen as he walks across the stage. From face-planting or forgetting to shake the principal’s hand, to his head literally exploding—Final Destination style. You never would’ve guessed he’d be so nervous about something as quick and painless as this. You guess strip-teasing the whole school is less nerve wracking than walking at graduation. Consider his rockstar dreams dead.

Soon enough, a member of the faculty is ushering you both out of your seats and toward the stage. You can’t even lie and say that your own nerves aren’t starting to get the best of you. It’s intimidating and scary, but you aren’t sure if it’s the act in itself, or what it signifies. A final moment. Your final moment here as students.

Shit, now you want to cry.

You only drop Harry’s hand once he’s at the front of the line, even if you don’t really want to. Why can’t you just be called together? Just as his name is called, he flips back toward you with a tight-lipped smile. You try to reciprocate, but yours is a bit more misty-eyed.

You scream. You scream loudly. The microphone probably picked it up. Eyes only growing waterier as you watch him shake the principal's hand and get a quick picture taken with his diploma. You nearly forget to hand your own name card in.

And you black out as soon as the syllables ring out over the field.

Walk. Shake the principal’s hand. Grab your diploma. Forget to smile for the picture. Stumble off the stage.

The only thing to pull you from your trance is an eardrum-shattering wolf whistle. There’s only one person you know that can make that sound. Strolling—a little too slowly—back to your seats, Harry walks backward with a gleaming smile on his face. It forces your feet to rush forward, racing for him. Magnetizing yourself to his side, you make your way back to your seats.

The rest of the ceremony, while going by quickly, is just as boring. One last speech and a whole lot of “thank you’s”. The nerves of the day are gone. Materializing instead into a buzzing excitement. Lord knows what’s next for you, for you and Harry, and all of your friends. But it’s exhilarating. High school is over and your lives are just beginning.

Guess the principal was right. You walked across that stage straight into your future.

That thought races through your head as you’re all instructed to move the tassel from one side to the other, signifying the end and the beginning. You can feel the excitement in the air when you’re given the green light to toss your caps up into the air. Everyone screams in delight, even the crowd.

The fear of getting your eye poked out with the corner of a cap keeps your head hung, but you wouldn’t have had the chance to watch even if you wanted to. Not when Harry engulfs you into his arms and lifts you off the ground, twirling you around like you’re the only two people on this grass. Your arms and legs wrap around him like he’s a tree you’re desperate to climb, holding on for dear life. He holds you securely to his chest, feeling it rise and fall with his easy laughter as caps fall from the sky like confetti.

When he lowers you back down onto the ground, you don’t dare to fully unlatch. You’re not even sure if you could. Keeping your arms wrapped tight around his torso as you walk through the field in search of your friends and family.

Your friends meet you both by the exit of the field, hugging and nearly in tears. Wayde was definitely crying. It’s not the end—hardly—but it just feels like it is. There’s still summer and years and years after that, but this chapter is closing.

You all venture out into the mess of the parking lot to find your parents, going your separate ways. That is until they all show up at your house in an hour. You still don’t let go of Harry. Not even when you get stuck in the thick of the crowd, searching for Harry’s mom. You’re lucky she finds your clingy nature endearing, pulling both of you into a big hug when you find her.

Harry’s mom is quite possibly one of your favorite people you’ve ever met. She doesn’t try to be intimidating like your dad, which is a major relief. When he brought you to his house, the first time since becoming official, she welcomed you with open arms and five baby-Harry scrapbooks. You’re not even sure if you saw Harry that night.

“There’s our little graduate!” you can hear your fathers booming voice from across the lot.

For Harry’s sake, you unravel yourself from him but latch onto his hand instead. Your mothers immediately begin gabbing together about nothing and everything while your dad saunters toward you. There’s an eerily cheesy smile on his face. You know it’s genuine, but Harry’s hand tenses in yours.

“Go on, say goodbye to your little boyfriend, you’ll see him soon,” your father teases, a childish glint in his eyes.

“If I throw a tantrum can he just come back with us?” you fake-beg, pouting and everything.

“N-no, that’s not—“ Harry immediately goes to stop you from an outburst. “I can just go—“

“I’m joking.” You laugh, knocking your hip into his. “Father Dearest, would you mind waiting in the car so I can say goodbye to my “little boyfriend” without you staring daggers at us?”

Your father visibly shudders—another joke. And another time Harry doesn’t take it as one. He starts, “It’s fine, I’ll just—“

“As much as it pains me to say this… Son, just kiss my daughter goodbye.” Your dad rolls his eyes, regretting his decision to make Harry scared of him.

“Father!” you gasp dramatically. “Do you think we actually partake in such activities?! What do you take me as?! Some kind of—“

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be in the car.” He waves you off as he saunters toward the car, stealing your mother away with him.

Anne gets the hint and minds her own a few feet away, acting as if she’s not eager to have her accomplished son to herself for a moment. Well, as much as you love Anne, it’s your turn right now.

You throw your arms around Harry’s shoulders the second your peeping-Tom’s are out of the picture. His hands snake behind your back, underneath the navy gown. You rise on your toes as he leans down, but neither of you make the final move. Final kiss in the school parking lot, you think. As if it’s monumental. Wait… Is it monumental?

“Would you rather have your name tattooed on your forehead or have no front teeth?” And the moments ruined.

“Really, Harry?” You lower down onto the soles of your feet as he laughs to himself, dimples out and everything.

“I’d rather have no front teeth,” he answers his own question, not bothered at all about ruining what was maybe supposed to be a monumental moment. “Would you still like me if I didn’t have front teeth?”

“No,” you tease, but there’s a hint of honesty in there. That makes Harry pull back a tad, picking up on it. “What? Your two front teeth are arguably my favorite teeth of yours.”

“You have favorite teeth?” he asks, confused but also slightly amused.

“Do you not?” you mock offense, going along with this conversation for some reason. Maybe this is what was supposed to be monumental, this conversation. And that’s why you’re both savoring it for as long as you can.

“Sorry, babe, but I can’t say that I do.” Your stomach does a weird twisty thing at the new nickname. You’ve never been big on pet names. Well, not until now.

You force yourself not to bring attention to it, not wanting to scare him into never doing it again. “Wow,” you sigh, feigning disappointment, “just wait til my father hears of this. All the money he paid for braces and you don’t even—“

“Please, he doesn’t need another reason to despise me.” He pinches your back and tugs you closer, a horrible act of being mad.

“He doesn’t despise you.” You lift back onto your toes, coming face to face with him. And when he smiles, you come face to face with your favorite teeth. You can’t help but mutter a soft, “There they are…” when you see them. It only makes him smile harder, and you can’t resist. You don’t even care if you’ll be kissing teeth.

But, once again, the moment is stolen from you. The sound of a loud car horn blaring is what breaks you from what you seriously believe is a monumental moment. The universe must have it out for you. Or, you know, your father.

“We should probably—“ Harry starts, attempting to end this consequential, monumental moment before it ever even began. But he doesn’t get to finish.

Not before your lips are attached to his. Just a casual, light peck since you know you have an audience. Still, Harry instinctively pulls you closer, not wanting the delicate touch to end. Neither do you, but you know it has to. Harry would love to regret it if it didn’t end soon. But that doesn’t mean you don’t take the chance to peck his lips two more times before lowering back down.

Harry’s arms slowly unravel from you as you back away to your awaiting chariot. Your eyes never waver.

“I’ll see you at your house!” he calls out when you’re far enough away.

“See you soon!” you yell back, an emotional feeling creeping up on you. “I lov—“ Fate seems to step in and stops you from letting your emotions blurt something you aren’t sure you’re ready for. Fate, also known as your dad on the car horn again.

You’re literally five feet from the car.

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

Even though it’s only been, literally, an hour since you all parted ways at graduation, you’re still rushing to the door every time one of your friends arrives. As if you hadn’t seen them in years. As if each of them are your husband returning from war.

You’re just excited.

Not for this…poor excuse of a party your parents have set up. But instead, for what’s to come when you all make your sneaky exit halfway through the night. You’re hoping that in an hour all the moms will be too engrossed in baby albums and wine to notice, and the dad’s will be inspecting the grill. While the embarrassment of everyone seeing pictures of you as a chunky baby makes you want to stand guard of the photo album shelf, you’ll let it slide so you can have some actual fun on your graduation night.

Frankie and her parents were the first to arrive, and she looked a bit shell shocked if you’re honest. Something about the amount of ‘Congratulations’ calls she had to endure before she came over. Quinn was next to show up, still dressed in her cap and gown—per her parents request. Wayde and Ronan were next, and their parents were already engrossed in a conversation about how they “both pulled up at the same exact time”. Of course that conversation had to be carried onto your parents as well. Ryan showed up only a few minutes later. He didn’t even bother trying to integrate his parents into the mix, just left them to fend for themselves. All this running up and down your stairs has started to take a toll on you.

When Leah showed up, all of you went down to greet her. Well, her and her brother who insisted on driving his family over—per your group's request. Her parents made their way inside while you all “checked out his new wheels.”

“Did you get it?” Wayde’s the only one confident enough to ask.

Leah’s brother, James, lifts the twelve pack and a bottle of dark liquor. Taunting. “I swear, if any of you little shits gets drunk off your ass and runs home to cry to your Mommies, I’ll ground you myself.”

“James,” Leah whines, annoyed by her brother. The rest of you are a little scared.

“Just don’t be fucking stupid, okay?” He stares down your little group. Your response and agreement are hesitant nods and murmurs of ‘okay’.

Just as he’s passing the goods over to Wayde and Ronan, you spot Harry’s family car pulling up to your house. All hell breaks loose when you warn them. James hurries to hand it over while Wayde and Ronan try to come up with a way to conceal it.

“Just take it to my room!” you whisper-shout at them, the same time James speeds off down the street. So much help.

Ronan follows in Wayde’s lead of shoving the alcohol under their shirts—totally discreet—and waddling like pregnant women back into your house. The rest of them scatter, leaving you alone to greet Harry and his mom. Having to act like you didn’t just partake in an illegal trade off just seconds before.

When the car rolls to a stop, it takes all of about five seconds for Harry to jump out. He scoops you into his arms and you let out a squeal of surprise. Sure, he’s more comfortable being affectionate in front of his mom, but this is still a bit out of character. No matter how much you were missing him in the hour you were apart, this is a little excessive.

He mumbles quietly next to your ear, “My mom saw everything. I told her it was sodas and a gift for your dad. Act cool.”

“What? Ha— Hi, Anne!” you pull away from Harry as quickly as you can. The pitch of your voice and your posture is already incriminating.

“Hi…” Her eyes flick between you and her son, sensing the tension.

“You know, I think my mom was just about to crack open the scrapbook of my birth. Maybe we should—“

“Oh! I’d love to see that!”

Perfect way to get a mom off your back is to entice with baby pictures. Works every time. The older the pictures the better. Specifically the age range where your parents can point at the picture and ask “What happened?”

You lead the way back into your house and Anne is immediately sucked into the circle of Moms. It gives you ample time to disappear upstairs with Harry, up to your room. It’s silent in between the four walls, everyone holding their breath just in case the cops have been called to ransack your pathetic stash.

“They’re all distracted,” you breathe the words and watch everyone’s shoulders sag in relief. “We have about an hour until the Mom’s are tipsy and the Dad’s are trying random food on the grill, so…”

“Should we…make our rounds?” Frankie asks, but you can tell she’s already over talking about graduation.

“Yeah, we should…” Leah agrees, but no one makes the first move to go downstairs.

“Or we could just…hide up here until they forget they’re even parents?” Harry suggests, taking a seat on the edge of your bed.

“Yeah, yeah. I like that idea better.” You all agree in unison.

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

You don’t know how you ended up here. It feels like it’s been hours since all your friends showed up to your house. Hours since you all snuck downstairs, shushing each other’s heavy footsteps and the rattling of the alcohol hidden in a duffle bag.

Somehow you all made it out unscathed. Completely under the radar. Or at least you’re hoping you did. You haven’t heard any sirens or search parties commencing from all of your absences.

As soon as you’d all stumbled your way out of the house, you started your trek. Living by the lake has its perks, perfect for nights like this. Camped out on the “beachy” area with the still waters a few feet away. And as if fate knew you all needed something special to commence the celebration, you stumbled across a pile of firewood. Likely left here by past visitors, but it’s yours to use now. You were all thanking the heavens when Harry pulled a lighter out of his pocket. And you set a reminder in your head to ask him about it later.

Everyone’s lounging around. It’s peaceful. Serene. The perfect way to end such a stressful day. Stressful week. Hell, who are you kidding? Stressful four years!

Quinn and Ronan sit beside one another against the bank, dipping their toes into the icy water and sharing a secret conversation. Ryan is showing Frankie the perfect way to roast a marshmallow, which for him is just burnt. And Wayde is getting chased around by Leah who threatens to push him into the campfire. They’ve had a bit too many shots of that brown liquid from the glass bottle. Everyone else has just been nursing their canned beers, not overdoing it. Especially Harry, who’s still on his first.

You’ve gotten a bit more carried away. While you weren’t taking shots on shots with Leah and Wayde, you did dabble with one. But that was a mistake. Nearly coughing up a lung and debating drinking lake water to soothe the burn. After that, you decided to stick to the beers. Even if they taste like piss. You’re on your third.

You can feel the heat in your cheeks, and it’s not just from the fire a few feet away. Your eyes move slower and your body feels heavier. It’s good you have something to lean on.

Sitting sideways, you’ve taken residence on Harry’s lap. He uses one hand planted on the dirt behind him to hold himself up, but his other is planted firmly around your hips. His touch makes you feel warmer than the fire and the alcohol combined. Sometimes his thumb will brush up underneath the hem of your shirt and you shiver every time, despite the heat.

Hardly any words are exchanged, but there doesn’t need to be. It’s comfortable. Watching your friends at peace—or at war. This right here is the monumental moment you’ve been searching for all day.

You find your head falling onto Harry’s shoulder, curling further into his side. His adjustment is to hold you tighter, impossibly closer. You’ve never felt more at peace than you do at this moment. It’s almost overwhelming. That feeling alone has you craning your neck back to stare up at the boy who you’re certain is the reason for the calm. He senses your eyes on him and peers down at you, a lopsided smirk growing on his face.

The flames cast dancing, orange shadows across his face. Doing the impossible task of somehow making him even more beautiful. You nearly blurt that thought, but you don’t want to disrupt the silence. But he stares down at you as if he’s read your mind. Like he can tell you’re admiring him. It makes his smirk deepen.

And then he’s leaning in. He’s leaning in and his lips are pressing gently against yours. No matter how many times it happens, you don’t think you’ll ever tire of the butterflies. You can feel his smile against your lips, warming your heart to the same temperature as the fire in front of you. The rest of your body catches up with the temperature change when his head tilts and the kiss deepens.

No longer is it an innocent press of two lips, but instead, a more intense entanglement. Pulling your bottom lip between his own, you gasp at the sensation. It might just be the alcohol in your system, but this kiss feels different. Deeper. More meaningful.

Monumental.

It has you sitting up straighter, lifting your head from his shoulder to further deepen the kiss. His hand moves from your hip to the back of your head, cradling it gently as his lips grow feverish. The feeling of his tongue tracing the seam of your lips has you gasping again, allowing him entrance.

You and Harry have kissed before, obviously. You’ve even made out a handful of times. But that’s where it’s ended. Some passionate and desperate kisses, a little under the shirt action, and then you stop. You know he wants more, but…you’re scared. Not of him, not of being vulnerable with him, but of the action in itself. The description Leah gave you when she lost hers a few weeks ago was enough to make you consider becoming a nun. You want that closeness with Harry—of course you do. You just aren’t sure if you’re ready for that…

He doesn’t pressure you, though. Not in the slightest. The perfect gentleman. When you pull away, always with a nervous smile bred in fear of disappointing him, he smiles back. Genuinely. And then you just go back to whatever you were doing before.

But tonight? Tonight the alcohol is affecting your judgment. His lips feel too good. His hand tangling in your hair feels too right. And the small, almost unnoticeable sounds he pours into your mouth taste too delicious. Instinctively, your hands land on his shoulders, lifting yourself to adjust your position.

“Babe…” he mumbles into your mouth. A plea? You can’t be sure. You take it as him telling you to keep going. It spurs you on. A knee on either side of his hips, you work on settling yourself back down onto his lap. Both of his hands fly to your hips, an unrelenting grip. “Babe.” There’s that name again, more insistent this time. Your brain is too fogged to focus on what he’s trying to say.

“Hey! Freaks! Get a room!” It’s Wayde’s voice to break you out of that trance. That and the pebble he throws at the back of your head.

Only then do you realize the compromising position you’ve put yourself in. You’re straddling Harry in front of all of your friends. Now the blush in your cheeks has nothing to do with the alcohol.

Harry notices your mortification quickly, drawing shapes on your hips with his thumbs. He stretches up to place a soft peck against your lips, smiling lightly at the clear embarrassment on your face. “Not tonight, babe.”

His words force you to replay what just happened. His incessant murmurs of the pet name stand out. You realize, instead of it being him pleading for more and for you to keep going, he was trying to get you to calm down. You can hear it now, as you replay it in your mind. Not angry or upset, but concerned if anything. He knows you aren’t ready. He knows this is literally the last place, the last situation you’d want that to happen. He was looking out for you in your inebriated state. And those three words you nearly spilled earlier today seem more prevalent than ever.

After your morbid embarrassment has calmed down, you resume your old position of having your legs strewn over his and being cuddled into his side. No one brings it up again, and you’re grateful.

“My mom’s making me get a summer job,” Harry says suddenly, effectively changing the subject. Again, grateful.

“Really? Why?” you mumble, resting your head on his shoulder again.

“Gotta pay for stuff while I’m away at college somehow. Plus, I’m saving for a car.” His thumb resumes its mindless masterpieces on your hip.

“You’re saving for a car?” Your heart stutters a bit at the thought. “Does that mean you won’t need my free rides anymore?”

“No,” he replies quickly, “just means I’ll get to drive my girl around in my new wheels.”

“I better be the girl in the scenario.” Your comment is stupid, but your eyelids are heavy now and the crackle of the fire is like a lullaby.

“You’re so drunk.” You feel his chest rumble beneath you as he laughs.

“Am not,” you whine.

“Are too.” He pinches your hip, you muffle your squeak. “Anyway, I’m thinking of working at that bakery in Old Town.”

“Why there?”

“Good pay, easy work. I’d probably just be scrubbing burnt cake off of pans all day.”

“Does this mean we won’t get to hang out as much?” Your voice is whiny, pathetic. You’re not sure when you became this dependent on his presence.

“It’ll only be a few hours every week,” he reassures you, but something about it still doesn’t feel right in your gut. Outwardly, you accept it.

“Hey, anyone got the time?” Ryan turns around from his seat by the water. It forces you to pay attention to the way the moonlight bounces off the surface. How long have you all been out here?

You haphazardly reach for your phone somewhere behind you, being anchored down by Harry’s grip on you. The screen illuminates your face, making you squint and forcing your eyes to take a second to adjust.

12:23 AM

Oh, shit. When did it get so late? You were only supposed to be out here for an hour or two. Not five! God, your parents must be worried sick wondering where you are. And all of their parents too! You can’t believe your phones haven’t been blowing up with pleading messages or amber alerts.

But as your eyes scan the screen further, you realize why.

Mom

The key is under the mat for when you make your way home. Be safe and don’t overdo it, you don’t want to be sick tomorrow! Your friends can crash in the living room. See you in the morning.

11:38 PM

.·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·.

taglist: @tpwkmr @alex-voiddome @hsviorry

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emomattlover · 13 hours ago

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𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐢𝐧’𝐭 𝐧𝐨 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐛𝐲𝐞.

toxic! matt with toxic! reader

in which matt and reader are in a .. somewhat unhealthy relationship. they are too overbearing, and too much for each other to handle, but they cannot leave each other alone.

warnings: angst, fluff (in a comfort in the chaos way? idk), matt has issues only reader knows of, cursing, intense and suggestive themes, lowercase intended.

heard this song on tiktok and knewww a fic needed to be wrote. this is another blurb i’m wanting to turn into another au lol, let me know if we like it!

your and matt’s relationship started picture perfect. sure, the two of you didn’t have the classic grow up together turn into lovers story. and you didn’t spend your whole life being his best friend.

no. the two of you earned something better. you came into each other’s lives unexpectedly, but right when you both needed the other most. and at the beginning, the two of you were everything the other had dreamed of. you were patient with him, and completely understood that along with him came nick and chris.

and in turn? you got a man who worshipped the ground you walked on, to a fault at times. matthew adored you, and there wasn’t a fact about you the poor boy didn’t know.

but of course, neither of you lived in a fairytale. this was the real world, and in the real world you both had problems. you stressed yourself in your own work and projects, yet you were slowly learning how to handle that and make time for matt.

matt never ever had to do that.

despite many rumors, and many failed talking stages, throughout matt’s fame he stayed single. simply because he couldn’t separate work and personal lives. it was too much on top of the mental wars he waged with himself. but then he met you, and he knew no matter what, he wanted to find a way to make it work.

but no matter what the two of you wanted, it didn’t change the fact that he had a lot to work on, and so did you. every time the two of you would break into an argument because of personal issues, you’d curse his name up and down. and then you two would make up, it was an ugly cycle neither of you had the power, let alone the energy to break.

matt and his brothers came home from meeting after meeting. about merch, marketing, and in his own humble opinion shit that could’ve fucking waited. but it didn’t, it was all pressed in one day and his brain didn’t have the motivation to focus on it anymore. instead, he came in— completely avoiding you as he made his way towards your shared bedroom. nick and chris exchanged a glance before chris, ever the sweetheart, spoke up “i wouldn’t take it personally, ma. he gets a little pissy once he’s overstimulated. he’ll be normal matt in no time.”

and of course you wanted to believe chris’ sweet smile and tender voice.

but you just couldn’t. you made a lame excuse to follow matt to the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind you. watching as matt pulled from the stash he hid from his brothers. the liquor bottle he bought to ‘take the edge off’ as he needed it.

“you’ve been drinking every fucking night this week,” you spat, making sure to hit the lock on the door. “thought that was just to take the edge off,” you mocked him, crossing your arms as a hurt expression washed over his face. “don’t goddamn start,” matt began. “you’ve been putting me through hell for the last week or so, ‘bout how ‘m not emotionally available to you, whatever the fuck that means. then i go to meeting after meeting today, dealing with fucking idiots, can’t do this right now.”

you scoffed slamming the closet door open, yanking an overnight bag down from the top shelf. “the fuck are you doing?” matt asked in disbelief. “i can’t do this anymore matt, i can’t watch you drag yourself into a hole and let you continue to blame me for it.”

matt tightened the lid on the bottle, sliding it back underneath the bed. “y’don’t mean that shit,” he slurred, pulling the bag down onto the floor. “now fuckin’ quit.” you stared at him in disbelief, “don’t fucking tell me how i feel! i mean it matt, this was the final time.” you spat, picking the bag back up and placing it onto its rightful spot.

“you’ve lost your goddamn mind if you think you’re leaving—“ he laughed in disbelief. “you know what? fuck it. but we both know this isn’t goodbye, you’ll come crawling back when you’ve had your fill of whatever’s out there.” he didn’t stop or slow down, “and then bam three months later, i should go fuck myself ‘cause ‘you don’t deserve this.’”

you couldn’t say anything as you stared at him.

“i should probably put the bottle on the shelf,” he huffed. “but you should try to understand me, for like five minutes babe.” and as bad as you wanted to be livid, you couldn’t. you loved matt, with everything in you. against everyone’s better judgment, you tossed the bag to the floor. matt stared at you for a second, not daring to break eye contact.

and at once, it was like the dam broke, and the water quickly came flooding in around the two of you. his hands grabbed at your waist, dragging you into him. the taste of liquor still so prominent on his lips. “matt,” you whined against him. “shhh,” he cooed pulling back only momentarily. “we can’t help ourselves mama, just one more night of this and we’ll work on bettering us.”

and you knew it was a fucking lie, but he was right about one thing— you two can’t seem to help yourselves.

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actuallybean · 2 days ago

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Holy Virgin* | Part Nine

You've shared everything with Sam but one thing—your faith. It’s never been a problem… until Heaven turns its gaze on you, and suddenly, devotion takes on a darker meaning. *Contains sexual material, pregnancy, thoughts of suicide/attempted suicide, virginity and has some religious themes: Minors DNI Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader, Dean Winchester x Reader (Platonic), Castiel x Reader (Platonic) Tag list: @mostlymarvelgirl @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @catsinacottage Part Ten Supernatural Masterlist | Main Masterlist

It was just past three a.m.

Dean sat at the kitchen table, hunched forward, elbows braced like the weight of the world might finally crack his spine. The coffee in front of him had long since gone cold—his third cup, untouched. Open books surrounded him like a graveyard of desperation. Lore on divine births, messiah myths, purification rites, ancient celestial bloodlines.

None of them told him what he really needed to know.

How to stop this.

How to help you.

He ran his fingers through his hair for the hundredth time. He could still hear you crying in your room last night—quiet, muffled, but shaking through the walls. Sam had held you. Dean hadn’t gone in.

He didn’t know how.

But then Castiel’s voice echoed in his skull like thunder:

“She is the one He hears.”

That was all it took.

Dean shot to his feet so fast the chair slammed against the wall. He didn’t stop to think, didn’t hesitate. His boots hit the floor hard as he stormed down the hallway like a man possessed.

He didn’t knock.

The door creaked open slow. Moonlight pooled inside the room in silver-blue waves.

You were curled up under the blanket, tucked into Sam’s side, your legs tangled with his. Your breathing was soft, rhythmic, a rare moment of peace.

Dean froze in the doorway, guilt slamming into his gut.

You looked safe like this. For a second, he considered walking away.

But then he thought about something else.

He thought about finding your body.

He thought about walking into this room and seeing you cold and stiff, blood pooling beneath your head, your rosary still clutched in your hand. He thought about Sam screaming. About the way grief would break them both in half.

He thought about that image and how you must have already seen it too—because you were always one step ahead, always protecting them, even from yourself.

And he couldn’t let that happen.

He wouldn't.

“Hey,” Dean said, his voice rough, cracking. “Hey—wake up.”

Sam stirred first. His eyes fluttered open, squinting at the light. “Dean?”

You blinked slowly. “What’s wrong?”

Dean stepped inside, his hands trembling. “I need you to pray.”

You sat up halfway. “What?”

“I need you to pray.” His voice was tight. “Right now. Please.”

Sam sat up too, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. “Dean—what the hell’s going on?”

Dean’s gaze darted between you both, desperate. “Cas said God’s listening to her. Not us. Her. And ever since that night in the war room, everything’s gone to shit. She’s quiet. She’s scared. And I don’t know if God’s ignoring her now or if He’s waiting for her to speak. But either way—” He swallowed hard. “I think maybe He’ll listen again. If she tries.”

You stared at him, stunned by the sheer force of his words. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. He probably hadn’t.

“You really think He’ll answer me?” you asked softly.

Dean’s jaw clenched. “I don’t know. But you’re the only one He’s ever answered. And if there’s even a chance… a fucking sliver of one… I have to try. We have to try.”

You looked at Sam. His eyes were sad but resolute. He gave a slight nod.

You exhaled slowly. Then nodded too.

Pushing the covers back, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed. The floor was cold. You shivered.

Dean stood frozen in place, like he was afraid to breathe.

Sam reached out and rested a hand on your back, a quiet promise. You closed your eyes.

Your hands came together.

And you began.

“Father,” you whispered, “I don’t know what to say anymore.”

Dean closed his eyes too, his hands fisting at his sides.

“I don’t know if I’m still worthy of You. Or if You’re still listening. But I’m here. And I’m scared.”

Your voice wavered, but you didn’t stop.

“I don’t want this. I never wanted this. I didn’t ask to be chosen. I didn’t ask to be a vessel or a symbol or a miracle. I just wanted to save people. I wanted to fight beside them. I wanted to live.”

The silence pressed closer.

“And I keep thinking,” you choked, “what if I can’t stop it? What if this ends with me in the dirt somewhere—just another body on the floor? What if Sam or Dean finds me like that? What if they’re the ones who have to pull me out of the wreckage?”

Your hands trembled now.

“They’ve seen so much. Fought so much. But I don’t think they could come back from that. I couldn’t do that to them. I can’t.”

Dean’s chest heaved. His eyes burned.

“I’m begging You. If You’re still watching—say something. Please. Say anything.”

A beat.

And then… it happened.

A hum. Low. Barely there. Like the Earth itself exhaled.

The air shifted—thicker, warmer.

The overhead light flickered once. Twice. Then glowed steady and bright.

Dean’s eyes snapped open.

“Did you feel that?” he whispered, voice hoarse with awe.

Sam didn’t speak. He was too busy watching you—your face turned upward, bathed in the light, softening into something serene.

You opened your eyes slowly. A tear slid down your cheek.

But this time… it wasn’t from fear.

“I think He’s still listening,” you said, voice like the echo of a miracle.

Dean let out a breath that sounded like a prayer itself.

“Good,” he said roughly, wiping his face with one shaking hand. “That’s… good.”

Sam pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you protectively. You leaned into his chest like it was home.

Dean backed toward the door.

“I’m gonna call Cas,” he said, and he didn’t wait for a response. He was already moving, faster than before, like that flicker of hope had caught fire inside him.

And as his footsteps echoed down the hallway, you stayed there—held tight in Sam’s arms, heart still pounding, body warm from something divine.

Maybe this wasn’t the answer.

But it was proof.

And for tonight, that was enough.

✦

You stayed awake long after the prayer had ended.

Even with Sam’s body curled protectively around you, his chest rising and falling against your back like the tide, even with the quiet hush of Dean’s footsteps retreating down the hallway and fading into the hush of the bunker — you couldn’t close your eyes.

Not after what you felt.

Not after that fleeting, impossibly gentle warmth that had bloomed beneath your skin like something sacred. Like sunlight pouring through stained glass and pooling in your chest. Like a whisper slipping beneath the seams of your soul — too soft to hear, too heavy to ignore. It was the breath of Heaven. That’s the only way you could describe it. A touch that had no fingers, a voice that had no mouth, a presence that needed no name.

He was listening again.

And that terrified you more than silence ever had.

Because it meant this wasn’t over.

Because it meant you hadn’t been abandoned.

Because it meant He was watching. Waiting.

Because it meant something was coming — and there would be no hiding from it.

The truth was, you had spent months learning how to live with the absence. You had buried your faith beneath salt and soot and unanswered prayers, let it fossilize in your chest beside every other thing you had lost. You had almost started to believe it was over — that whatever grand, divine plan you were supposed to be a part of had failed quietly in the background while you went on bleeding and breaking and pretending not to care.

But now… now you knew He was back.

And you weren’t sure if that was comfort or a curse.

So you lay there, staring up at the ceiling, blinking against the soft dark. The room smelled like old books and Sam’s shampoo. The air was warm. Safe. You could still feel the echo of your whispered prayer clinging to the corners of your lips, like honey you hadn’t swallowed.

And that’s when the knock came.

Soft. Barely audible. A ghost tapping its fingers on your doorframe.

Sam stirred beside you with a groggy, “Yeah?”

The door opened. You sat up before Dean even said a word.

He stood in the threshold with Castiel at his side, both of them cast in the dim hallway light, faces heavy with something you couldn’t name.

“He’s here,” Dean said quietly.

Not a question. Not even an explanation. Just a fact.

You felt your stomach pull tight.

Castiel stepped into the room. His trench coat swayed around his ankles like a shroud, but his eyes — ancient, oceanic, impossibly blue — were softer than usual. Gentler. As if he understood. As if he mourned something already lost.

“There’s a message,” he said.

You swallowed hard. “From… God?”

He nodded once.

“But it’s not in words,” Castiel added. “Not in prophecy. It’s a vision. He wants you to see.”

You felt the breath catch in your throat.

A vision. You’d had them before — brief, terrifying things that split your mind open and poured fire into your ribs. They left you trembling and hollowed, half-alive with their meaning. But this… this felt heavier. More final.

Still, you nodded.

Slow. Uneasy. But certain.

Castiel moved closer, kneeling beside the bed like a knight at confession. Reverent. Almost mournful. He raised his hand, hovering it inches from your temple, his gaze locked with yours like he needed you to believe in him. In this.

“This won’t hurt,” he murmured. “But it may feel like… everything.”

Your breath trembled out of you in a shaky exhale.

“I’m ready.”

His fingers brushed your skin.

And the world fell away.

✦

You landed barefoot in paradise.

The first thing you felt was warmth — not from heat, but from light. It sank into your bones without burning, gentle and radiant and impossibly pure. A breeze kissed your face, rich with the scent of blossoms, untouched earth, and rain that had never known sorrow. The grass beneath your feet was soft as velvet. The sky above was endless — not blue, but gold, streaked with clouds that looked like spun silk.

Sunlight wrapped around you like a second skin.

You turned slowly, eyes wide, heart thudding.

This place… it was alive.

The trees around you bore fruit in colors that defied language — iridescent purples, glowing crimsons, silver-pink orbs that shimmered with every breath of wind. Birds flitted between the branches, their songs not chirps, but melodies — harmonies that made your chest ache, like lullabies from another world. Rivers ran through the grass, clear as crystal and lined with lilies, petals gleaming like stars.

You didn’t have to wonder where you were.

You knew.

This was Eden.

The Garden. The beginning.

And you were alone.

Until the voice came.

“Do you know where you are, child?”

It wasn’t thunderous. It didn’t crack the sky or shake the earth.

It was soft. Gentle. Like a father tucking in his child. Like a memory you couldn’t place, but had always known.

The voice didn’t echo, because it didn’t need to. It threaded through your ribs. Wrapped around your soul like vines around a trellis. Every part of you heard it — not with ears, but with something older, deeper.

You bowed your head. “I know.”

“This is where it began,” the voice said. “Where man took his first breath. And where woman was born of it.”

You turned, slowly, instinctively.

Under a fig tree stood two figures — naked, unashamed, beautiful in their vulnerability. Adam and Eve. Their hands were clasped, eyes wide with wonder as they looked at the world, at each other, at everything.

“They were given everything,” the voice said. “A world without pain. Without death. They were meant to walk beside Me.”

You watched Eve reach toward the tree.

Watched Adam follow without hesitation.

Watched the moment the fruit left the branch.

And then the sky dimmed.

Their faces twisted. Shame fell on them like ash. They clutched at themselves, eyes wide with a fear you understood too well.

“They sinned,” God said. “And so the world changed.”

The garden vanished.

Images replaced it — flickering like pages of Scripture being turned by a hurricane.

Eve screaming in childbirth, her face slick with sweat and tears.

Adam toiling in a field of thorns, hands blistered and cracked.

A body wrapped in linen, lifeless and still.

Blood spilled in war. Eyes turned cold. Doors locked against mercy.

“These were not punishments,” He said. “They were consequences. The price of choice. The cost of free will.”

You looked down at your hands — trembling, human, fallible.

“I didn’t ask for this,” you whispered.

“No,” He answered, and His voice was so full of sadness it nearly broke you. “Neither did Mary.”

Another vision bloomed.

A young woman in a simple linen dress, kneeling on the floor of a stone room. Her hands trembled. Her face was pale. And before her stood an angel, radiant and terrifying.

“She was afraid,” God said. “She knew what the world would do to her. She knew the road would be long. But she said yes.”

You saw her body change. Saw her belly swell. Saw her endure the journey, miles and miles across sand and stone, her back aching as she rode on the donkey. You watched her give birth among animals — her cries lost in the night, pain and awe tangled together in her voice. You watched her raise a child destined to die.

“But she was never alone,” God said. “Not for a moment.”

You see Mary be embraced by a man. Joseph

And then the world shifted again.

You saw yourself.

Not bathed in light. Not cloaked in holiness. Just… you.

Barefoot. In your hoodie. Hair tangled. Knees scraped.

You were standing in the grass, uncertain. And Mary stood across from you, the child in her arms.

You reached out.

And the child reached back.

“You are not her,” God said. “You are you. But you carry her strength.”

Your throat tightened. Tears welled in your eyes.

“I don’t feel ready.”

There was silence for a long moment.

Then—

“You are.”

The words wrapped around your ribs like a warm shawl.

You sank to your knees in the grass.

And for the first time since your name had become a prayer, since angels began whispering prophecies in the dark, since you stopped believing there was a place for you in any of it—

You believed Him.

✦

When you opened your eyes, you were back in the bunker.

Castiel knelt beside you, tears clinging to his lashes.

Dean was still standing by the door, stiff with emotion. And Sam — Sam was holding your hand like he would never let go.

You swallowed hard.

“I saw Him,” you whispered.

Dean stepped closer, voice raw. “What did He say?”

You looked down, then back up at all of them — your family. The ones who had carried you when you couldn’t carry yourself.

“He said… I’m ready.”

No one moved at first.

Then Sam leaned in and kissed your temple.

Dean sat beside you, his hands clasped together tightly.

Castiel just nodded, something ancient and knowing behind his eyes.

And even though the fear didn’t leave you — even though the weight of what was coming still pressed against your shoulders like a storm not yet passed —

Something else lived inside you now, too.

Faith.

Peace.

And for the first time in a long time… hope.

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loud-whistling-yes · 2 months ago

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pov after 2 days of revisiting your old obsessions you realize that dl!pearl's pov is just very painfully reenacting your preteens/early teens social life in 6 conveniently short episodes with disturbing accuracy

#fweeet #i will make an actual normal analytical post in a bit just let me recover from the ice bucket thrown on my head for a sec #'oh wow i love pearls pov idk why its just very compelling yk' GIRL YOU WENT THROUGH THE EXACT SAME EXPERIENCE BEAT FOR BEAT GET A GRIP #how do i even begin to explain this. i already said it in the tags of a random post like 2 days ago but hear me the fuck out here #the sudden change of friendship dynamics because Someone decided you Did Something Wrong and its All Your Fault (it was not)#and then suddenly everyone decides you Did Something Wrong they dont want to be friends with you anymore #anyone who wants to be friends with you afterwards is immediately teased/shunned by everyone until they decide to throw you under the bus #to save themselves #and the only time people want you around is when they think youre good at something and they have no choice but to be nice to you #that is a gross oversimplification of what the hell is going on in dl but give me a hot second okay im still recovering #also i would maintag this to get more discussion but i think pearl's back on tumblr and ever since the last notice ive never been the same

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lunarruled · 4 hours ago

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The first time Magna had mentioned that she felt like everyone had this virus or whatever it was back in the prison Kyleigh had just shrugged it off as the woman just trying to rationalize what the hell was going on with the world. Prisoners didn't have much access to things like the internet and televised news, so in the half lycan's mind Magna was just going off what she heard from someone else. But seeing first hand that those old people had been isolated so there was no way they could have been bitten or scratched just confirmed how little was known about this disease and that the other woman had been right. So that meant that Kyleigh carried it too even though she wasn't fully human. So did that mean that even if she lived longer than any of them, if she lived through this entire thing and the world became normal again that she would still have it? Snapping out of her thoughts she realized that Magna had moved on to the other room and that she needed to as well.

And while she wasn't expecting a damn buffet to be laid out on the table it was disappointing to see that there was literally nothing at all. At least where she had been looking. Either it had been finished off by that couple before, or the house had already been looted. Kyleigh did find a small swiss army knife and a bottle of aspirin that she placed in her bag. But she was starting to think that maybe they should have just left those old people alone, moved on to the next house to see what else they might find.

With not much to show she agreed that checking out the rest of the house was probably the best idea, not even noticing the note that Manga had read. Kyleigh was trying to keep her mind in the present, think about keeping herself alive for another day and how she was going to get back on track with her plan to head on home. For a brief second she did think about asking if Magna wanted to tag along since Pennsylvania was on the way to Boston. But that would mean they could possibly become friends, form a bond, and then one day that could all get ripped away from her by a single bite. So she kept it to herself and instead decided to check out the other end of the room they had walked into, a bedroom.

Kyleigh had just opened up a closet with some nice, clean clothes in it when she heard Magna gasp and quickly spun around, thinking the worst. She had to laugh at the reaction of both herself and her companion who was digging into a bag of chips as if they were the last bag on earth. Which they very well could be at this point. All she could do was bite her lip to prevent herself from laughing, not at the fact that Magna was eating but at how she was eating. Shoving them in her mouth as if it had been years since she last ate instead of just a few hours. Not a word was said when Magna finally looked up from her bag, but Kyleigh did pause when she saw the larger of the two bags that were left was tossed her way. For a few moments she stared at it as if it contained the answers to every single question in life, almost afraid that if she would open the bag it would magically diseappear in front of her eyes.

"Thank you." She finally managed to whisper, carefully ripping the top of the bag open. Kyleigh didn't even care what flavor they were or if they were expired, she began to eat them in much the same manner as Magna had. She even closed her eyes and sighed happily, they were the best damn things she had ever tasted. What she wouldn't have given for an ice cold beer to go with them, or even some sweet tea.

"I was going to say if you found some beer I would never leave this place." She joked back between bites, moving over to the side of the bed and sitting down on it. It felt so strange to sit on something soft like that again, but so nice at the same time. "Your ass might not grow back but it's worth a shot. We should still check out the garage and see if we can find a pump for that bike. Or another one and switch the tire out. That was actually a good idea. We could cover a lot more area and it's easier to get away from the dead on two wheels. If we find a motorcycle it's over. I can even teach you to drive it if you want."

Kyleigh couldn't remember the last time she had been able to just sit down and bullshit with someone, yet alone on a bed without having to fear for her life. Sure there was danger out there, and they would run into more of the dead again. But ten or twenty minutes of normalcy gave her the hope that maybe it wasn't always going to be such a pain in the ass to survive.

That unexpectedly sharp tone of Kyleigh’s hadn’t gotten on Magna’s nerves at all. Not that Magna didn’t have bad moods sometimes or couldn’t get snappy, but all that time she had spent in the prison had desensitized her. Snarky behavior from others occurred on a daily basis in places like that. Magna knew when to sass back and when to hold her restraint. She noted how the woman glanced away when she usually wasn’t one to shy away from eye contact, but didn’t give it much thought until later, when she registered the woman’s expression upon Magna’s news. Damn, maybe Magna had delivered it during the wrong moment? Maybe she had delivered the truth too coldly. Too sudden. Or maybe Magna had finally fucked up and thrown her off by inspecting a corpse like it was something normal to do.

Ever since killing that man, she had been scared whether someone might recognize what monstrosity she kept hidden within herself. For as much as she convinced herself what she had done was right and for as much as she would do the same thing over and over again if she had to, it filled her with shame that she had actually taken someone’s life. What if Kyleigh had managed to pick up something within Magna? What if she could see something was wrong with her? The whole time, Magna had been surprised that Kyleigh hadn’t treated her like something less for having been a prisoner, but what if that had all been an illusion?

One thing Magna was certain of, Kyleigh’s mood wasn’t the same as t was just minutes ago. But maybe the scene had just been too depressing. Everyone had their low points, right? Even someone as resilient as Kyleigh was.

Magna didn’t add anything to the conversation at all, starting to search through the kitchen. She was beginning to think there was no food left at all. Maybe the couple had died due to malnourishment? She wasn't sure. They didn't look like they'd starved. Releasing a disappointed sigh, she opened up the drawer of a tall corner table. Three cigarettes, money, and a pearl necklace that reminded Magna of her own grandmother. The money was more than useless, but the cigarettes she placed in her bag along with the necklace, which she was hesitant to take at first.

Making a movement as if she was going to place it back into the drawer, Magna pulled it back towards her and then stored it in her bag. That's a dead woman's belonging, who steals that? But for some reason it gave her hope to get going, a sorrowful expression etching into her features for a few moments and Magna standing still as she thought about how hard this world must be for the elderly. For her own grandmother. She hoped she was still out there. The excess time she had spent around that table had made her realize that she hadn't read the note on it. As Magna skimmed through it, she felt something in her chest twist, and she decided to get going for her own good. The couple had left a note to a grandson that was probably not even alive anymore.

"Let's check the rest of this place", Magna suggested. "There might be more dead up there. We gotta be careful."

She couldn't tell from the family photo who lived here or not. Not when there were photos of every uncle, cousin or family friend hung on the living room wall. But it was better to be safe than sorry.

At least the hallways were clean. As they left the kitchen and then the living room right by it, Magna quietly shut the door behind her. The hallway was full of their stench as it was. As they searched through another room, a bedroom, Magna gasped audibly as she opened the bedside table drawer. Three damn bags of chips!

With her instinct taking over, she tuned out the fact that Kyleigh was there and ripped one open, shoving a handful of the hot pepper nachos into her mouth, followed by another. She must have looked like a wild animal as she chewed it quickly and swallowed it down greedily, but the only thing she could register in that very moment was the disgustingly empty feeling in her stomach and that fragile feeling in her bones from not having eaten properly in such a long time. Shit, Kyleigh must think she's nuts. "Damn. I just haven't eaten in a long time", Magna remarked, a tad apologetic. Then she tossed Kyleigh the much larger bag of chips left, taking the other one which she only then noted were onion rings, a quite small bag so it was fair that Magna had two packs. "You look like you can use them."

Resisting the urge to grab another handful, she placed her bags of snacks on the table, followed by Magna laughing softly, a genuine laugh even if she still had that stressed, rough times look written all over her face at the same time. Crazy how she felt as if she had just dug up gold.

"We could have a real girl's night. I found a dip in here," Magna noted, thinking back to one of her favorite activities, stuffing herself full of pizza or chips, sitting on the bed with her cousin and watching old shows together. She was quick to crash on the soft bed, having missed the feeling of an actual mattress under her ass. She hadn't slept in a real bed for so long, she had begun to feel a permanent stiffness in her back. "Maybe that ass of mine has a shot of growing back to its original size", she sighed. "I never thought I'd get to eat chips on someone else's bed again. Go and get something to snack. We earned all that."

#☾ laskar1s #☾ v: Welcome To the New Age #☾ (The Walking Dead)#☾ Scouting The Area #☾ c: Magna #☾ friends of the half lycan; Magna #☾ man those chips saved their lives lol #☾ Ky is very happy about them

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s0fter-sin · 2 years ago

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i’ve tried so many energy drinks in the last week and i did not expect monster to be the one that tastes best

#all the others had that gross im an energy drink after taste to them but the monster was just straight up good #none of them have done jack shit for my fatigue but that doesnt exactly surprise me #i had four days in a row where i was awake for over 24 hours #one where i was up for 33 #theyre just getting more and more frequent and since my hearts been up the shit recently they reckon i need to go back to the doctors #i needed to anyway for scripts and cause its been so long since my last in person appointment #i just know it wont be the last one and since im thinking of switchig up my meds he might make me go see my cardio again an i cant be fucked #i havent seen him since before covid and hes moved since then so i bet hell want an in person too #im not driving three hours for an ‘oh at least youre looking happier’ and a new script he couldve just emailed me #ive doubled the dosage of my meds which i know isnt smart but i wanted to do something in the meantime #i dont know if hell want me to increase or switch up altogether #but these were the first meds i ever responded to #ive got through like six others and they all did jack shit #no benefits no side effects nothing #and i remember how bad i felt before i was put on these and i cant be bothered feeling like that again waiting to see if something new works #and yeah these never really worked right but at least they worked enough #as long as i dont have to do an in person with my cardio ill deal #i just doubt ill be that lucky #spoonie #coming out of my cage and ive been doing just fine.txt

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seventh-district · 2 months ago

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hhhrrrhggrghrghhhhhhh

ok i'm continuing my tag-yapping under a cut bc the tag limit can’t even hope to contain me this morning

CW: vent post (<- bc i don't have room for it in the tags and while this isn't quite like my typical vent posts, it definitely still has a lot of. idk. negative vibes. so. idk guys just scroll on by and leave me to my insanity)

(also i suppose i should warn for Arcane and Stranger Things spoilers, and Genshin Impact leaks. how did we get here idk this post is a fucking mess)

[continuing from where the tags left off]

like i have seen just enough spoilers to know that it’s gonna be another Eddie Stranger Things situation for me again. and that fixation was terrible man like don’t get me wrong i enjoy him a very normal amount these days and it’s fine but at the beginning??? i grieved that MF like he was a real person bro it was embarrassing. it literally brought me back to one of the worst emotional states i’ve ever suffered through. being prone to hyperfixating is fun and all until you’re sobbing in bed losing ur mind over missing someone that never even existed and you can’t function in your day-to-day life. then it’s not so fun. but anyways time lessens the pain of all wounds or whatever and i eventually became normal about Eddie. but like man. man i’ve got quite the feeling that Viktor will put me in a similar state. maybe hopefully not quite so bad but like. mmm. it would be a very bad idea to finally watch the show at this point in my life, given that things have quite literally never been worse and are only getting worse-er. but I Do Not Control The Fixation and i made the mistake of falling down a reaction-video rabbit hole on YT the other day. which i always regret bc i always end up on some random new misogynistic republican man’s channel who i’ve never heard of before and i just hurt my own feelings and it makes me lose hope in humanity and. it’s just always a bad time. like i only follow a very select few reaction channels who i actually enjoy but then i click on one (1) video and the fucking recommended videos always pull me in different directions and next thing i know it’s 3 hours later and i’m on a very different part of the internet and i realize oh there’s actually a lot of hate in the world. how did i get here. anyways.

about halfway down the rabbit hole i was watching some therapist guy reacting to Arcane bc i wanted to see his reaction to the Viktor and Jayce “Am I interrupting?” scene from S1EP2 bc it’s literally the only scene i’ve watched in-full (yes i engage with media in a very non-linear way don’t ask why there’s just something wrong with me) and bro. when i fucking tell you it felt like i got hit by a truck the moment Viktor was on screen— ,,,….,.,… like i didn’t realize how long it’d been since i’d seen it. and i. you know that meme that’s like “hyperfixation so bad i can’t engage with the source material”? yeah i experience that. like a lot. and i had one of those moments then. bc like. i’ve enjoyed his character for a long time. from a… distance? bc i’ve just never been ready to let the fixation fully hit me. ….. dear god i’ve been microdosing blorbos. jesus christ that’s funny. anyways where was i.

yeah i like. i read a bit of Viktor fanfic and admire fanart and gifs from the show and i have learned some of the gist of what’s going on with him through a particular creator’s rp audios that i have played to absolute death bc they’re very good. so i’m like. already attached to the character. he’s up there in my head with all the other blorbos. but i’ve never fully engaged with the source material. and so when he came on screen in that guy’s reaction video it was like. idk how to describe it. staring at the sun? or like. taking too much of a drug… idk i can’t. find the right metaphor. but it was just. Intense and it hit me all at once and i literally had to close the video like— i couldn’t take it lmfao. but ever since that i’ve got this urge to finally watch the show in full. but i’ve gathered through out-of-context screenshots and bits of people’s reactions to S2 that he.. dies? i think?? possibly more than once??? like i don’t really know any details and have very little context to go off of but i am surmising that he loses himself in hextech and goes robo-jesus mode in his search for тhe Glorious Ovulation or whatever the fuck is going on in this show that he then. dies?? with Jayce??? or ascends to the astral realm or some shit. like i literally have no clue what’s going on in that screenshot that was all over tumblr for a while after S2 dropped but. something is happening and i think it’s gonna be sad. (lmao i'm rereading this and i gotta say the Russian T wasn't intentional, i was typing too fast and accidentally switched keyboards instead of capitalizing it. but it made me laugh so i'm leaving it)

and like. i recognize that a character’s death can serve a respectable purpose in a good story and death is an inevitable part of life and all that. i respect it. but u must also understand that i am a sensitive little baby who has to endure enough angst in my real life that i selfishly want all my fave little blorbos to live forever and ever and happily ever after off into the sunset. okay? duality of man or whatever. (well, the happily part isn’t rlly necessary. i love angst i just hate death. they don’t gotta be happy forever they just gotta be alive. there is. a Reason that one of Saoirse’s defining characteristics is their infinite revivals resulting in effective immortality. all the angst of death with none of the permanence. and there’s a Reason that a lot of my favorite characters are Gods and angels and demons and vampires and werewolves and cyborgs and automatons. long-life species. i want so much more time than i’m ever gonna get and i Will project that onto the media i create and consume. next question.) so. where was i. oh yeah. so like. while i Accept the fact that Viktor’s presumably gonna die. i just know it’s gonna be an Eddie situation with me again and i don’t think my fragile psyche can handle that rn. so i guess i’ll just suppress the desire to watch Arcane until morale improves.

which is probably wise regardless of the emotional impact it’ll have on me given that i’m in one of my migraine-prone phases again and i know myself well enough to know damn well that if i start watching it rn i’ll binge the whole thing in like 2 days, induce a god-awful migraine from the screen-staring and lose touch with reality in the process. and hate myself for wasting time on a show when i could be doing literally anything else. like that’s a major reason i hardly ever watch anything anymore bc it just makes me feel more guilty for being lazy. bc like. in my mind if i’m writing or coloring or playing a game or engaging in any hobby that requires me to interact with it in some way, i can feel less bad for wasting time on it bc i’m at least Doing something. but watching a show or a movie or even a YT video just feels that much more lazy bc i’m literally just laying in bed staring at a screen not moving or using my brain. and i realize that i wouldn’t ever criticize someone else for it but. there’s another standard when it comes to me. like i know i should be studying and learning and working and cleaning and exercising and socializing and forcing myself to attend to all the adult responsibilities that are piling up on me. so if i’m gonna keep avoiding them then the least i could do is do something at least pseudo-productive instead. (even if that’s spending 2 hours yapping on Tumblr about how i can’t decide what to do today. apparently)

OKAY it's 12pm and i'm back. i drafted this post and forced myself out of bed, gave the entire bathroom a good cleaning, straightened up the living room, cleaned all the trash out of my bedroom, put a honeysuckle cube in my wax melter, got some ice cream and now i'm back to finish yapping.

the storms seem to have let up and i Should get in the shower but now my back hurts and i'm tired bc i have enough energy for approximately 1.5 tasks per day. so i'll just stay greasy until tomorrow. and due to the way the shower drains in this dysfunctional house i'll still have to speedrun my shower even then, or manually drain the septic tank since the ground is so saturated with water rn. and god it's supposed to rain more in a few days.. this is not gonna be good for the mold and structural problems. sigh. anyways where was i. god this post got long i am just a yapping machine today aren't i? we're taking the 'public diary' tag to heart with this one, boys

okay i got dragged away to deal with some stupid shit and it's now past 1pm and the smell of the wax melt is threatening to bring my migraine back and making my throat hurt and the sugar from the ice cream is making me feel sick. so today is falling apart spectacularly as per usual and i will likely get nothing else done except the dinner i have to make. maybe i'll be able to force myself to brush my teeth before bed. i love being mentally ill it's great we have fun here. /sarc

i hate how i've only got 10 or so hours of energy in me these days even though i get plenty of sleep. i wanna go to beeeeed and the rain outside the window is lulling me. anyways. i Will finish this comically long vent post if it's the last thing i do today.

take a shot every time i say anyways.

o k a y. it is nearly 5pm. and i might, just maybe might, finally be able to sit down and finish this. i am now finally back at my desk with pain thrumming in my back and legs and knees and my tummy is grumbling. but the overwhelming honeysuckle smell in my room has dissipated and my migraine hasn't returned yet and at least i can relax in a nice quiet dark cool 63 degree room after spending hours in a loud brightly lit 78 degree environment. so that's something to be grateful for. god bless my AC unit

maybe one day i'll get the chance to live a life that's actually my own. but until then i suppose there's always escapism!

speaking of, all day i've had my new Venti fic on my mind. calling it a fic sounds too.. grandiose? but it's too big to be a oneshot. what do you call a ~20k word story split into a few chapters. 'novella' sounds way too fancy to be used for fanfic. 'short story' sounds generic and also implies that it's original content. i guess it's just a small fic. a mini-fic maybe. yet another oneshot that got way outta hand. his rerun banner goes live on the uh.. 16th i think. and if i lock in i Could get the fic ready to post by then. and i think i'd like to. but there's no telling what happens in my day-to-day life that might prevent me from doing so. and it's not like there's really any good reason that i'm trying to make the two things line up, i just like using arbitrary days and dates as a source of motivation ig. but we're getting a bit of a Mondstadt revival(!!!) in 5.6 so i could also wait until then and it would still feel kinda celebratory. but it's an angsty story so idk why i'm trying to pair it up with a happy day anyways lmao. his birthday is coming up on 6/16 so i've got 2 days and 10 months. .. god i'm more tired than i thought. okay nope lets try that again. i've got 2 months and 10 days to get either the last chapters of Heaven In Hiding or some other new little fic ready to go up if i wanna post something else for his birthday. or maybe my real life horrors will take precedence and i won't get anything finished in time. that's a very real possibility.

i've been getting the urge to write for ES and [N]MbD again too. and i finally played through the Banana Outrage quest from HSR 2.6 and am now sitting on several ideas for Boothill comfort and reverse comfort oneshots. and i feel like there was some other character i had an idea to write for but my tired brain cannot recall it, if it ever existed. i've been sitting on a finished Ghost Band Dew x Reader OCD comfort fic for aaages now but i'm. embarrassed about it bc i just bullshit.. bullshitted.. bullshat? my way through the entire premise/setup and i feel like it's silly or inaccurate bc i have. Zero idea how a ministry.. monastery?.. church? thingy?? like whatever exists in the Ghost lore actually works. like i'm not even trying to adhere to canon so i guess i have as much creative freedom as i want but i also feel like what i wrote is unrealistic even within the fanon interpretations. and Dew is probably ooc anyway.. so i've been toying with the idea of scrapping the whole thing and rewriting the fic for a third time with some other character from another media that i know better. but hhhhhhh maybe one day i'll just be brave and post it and let ppl make fun of me if it sucks. like i'm not nervous about the actual OCD-comfort aspect bc i know exactly how to handle that. but the world i set the scene in is one i am not familiar enough with. idk, it feels.. forced, to me. which is funny bc the original version of the fic was with Eddie Stranger Things instead 😭 same OCD comfort premise just. different blorbo in a different setting. but my fixation on him waned and i hadn't fully fleshed the scene out yet anyway so i just scrapped it and used the idea for a Dew Ghost fic instead. but i've sat on it for so long that that fixation has waned as well and now i'm like... do i keep recycling this stupid oneshot for different blorbos indefinitely or what? idk. it's Overthinking Hours rn i guess

my Point is that i hate how as soon as i tell myself 'No More Fics Until You Get A Damn License' i suddenly have ideas and motivation for ten different projects. and yes i know it's probably just my avoidance manifesting itself. wanting to busy myself with writing so i can feel productive while avoiding my greatest fears. but knowing that doesn't change that it's happening!! i am sitting here hyper-self-aware in a hell of my own creation!!

but i should know better by now than to think i can force myself to do something by denying myself other things. it always ends up with me just doing nothing instead. there is no force strong enough to motivate me until the consequences of inaction become genuinely unbearable. and brother i can bear a lot in the name of avoidance.

and it's not like the environment i'm in is whatsoever encouraging me. maybe i'd feel different about it if i had a safe, functional vehicle to drive instead of something that won't even pass the safety inspection. maybe i'd feel different about it if i knew it wasn't gonna run me another $100+ a month on insurance i can't afford and legally have to have. maybe i'd feel different about it if i had someone i liked and trusted that would be patient with me and encourage me every day and teach me everything i need to know instead of just. expecting me to magically obtain all of this knowledge bc i'm 'smart'. like. my father in christ the apple unfortunately doesn't fall that far from the dumbass tree. just because i know a few big words and can weave them together decently when i try real hard doesn't mean everything comes easy to me. i was never all that 'gifted' i'm just good at memorizing shit. i dropped out of school the very second shit got too hard. i have never in my life learned how to study anything. i am a spoiled little baby who never had to try hard and now if it doesn't genuinely hold my attention/pique my interest/fixate me or i can't memorize it within a very short period of time, any and all information will simply bounce right back off of my brain. so tell me how in the fuck i'm supposed to force myself to study something that i not only couldn't care less about, but actively fear. how do i do it.

'you do it scared' yeah yeah i know. i've heard. but unfortunately until the conces get closer to quencing and life forces my hand, i'm afraid i'm just gonna sit here maladaptively playing with silly little characters in my mind and miserably avoiding all my fears just like i have for the past decade.

anyways. what a day. it's 6pm so i've hit my 16-hour consciousness quota and wanna crash in bed but i should try to push it a little further so maybe i'll wake up at a more normal time tomorrow. and just as i figured it might, this unintentional day-long post has chronicled the often-occurring scenario where i stress out about how to spend my day and then the whole day just kinda slips away from me anyways and i don't get anything done that i wanted to. typical Sunday vibes i suppose.

while i won't be watching any shows or doing any writing tonight and don't even feel in the mood to do any gaming, mayhaps i'll linger on Tumblr for a little while longer and fill up my queue so i can feel like i at least did one of the things i thought about doing this morning. i do wish i were more consistently active on this blog bc believe it or not i Do love it here. i'm just often too tired to do just about anything but the bare minimum these days and sadly, blogging is not on that priority list.

but it's not often these days that i put so many of my thoughts into words like i have here and tbh i'm feeling kinda drained now so i might just work on a coloring page, eat my mashed potatoes and let my brain go quiet with some youtube video in the background. that sounds nice. /gen

goodnight, Tumblr.

#Seven's Public Diary #good morning Tumblr. it is 6am on a Sunday i have been awake for 4 hours and it’s already been a Day #woke up from another nightmare in the wee hours of the morning as is usual for me these days. realized the internet was out and tried-#-rebooting it to no success. given all the flooding in town i’m sure it was some issue near the source and not on my end anyway.#resigned myself to an internet-less day. at least the electricity was & is still on so i’m grateful for that. was too awake to go back to-#-sleep since i’d already had ~9hrs. which is what i get for going to bed at 4pm but i had a migraine so it’s not like i could do anything-#-else anyways. which is my fault for playing Genshin for like 8hrs straight and expecting that to not have Consequences for my body.#which was made worse by the fact that i finished the Saurian Ifa-lore event and the cutscene made me cry a lot (/pos) which made the-#-pain worse and then the Migraine Nausea™️ kicked in and i had to lay down and become unconscious asap to escape it.#all i do is consume media and sleep these days anyway it’s fine. (it’s Not fine and the conces are quencing but i can’t. stop.) lol anyway #after a full sleep didn’t rid me of the pain i had to get up and get water and advil anyway. then sat in bed eating a cold burger at 3am #bc nothing screams I Have My Shit Together like eating yesterday’s takeout by phone-light in bed shirtless at 3am with a headache #i am literally the Oh Boy! 3 AM! patrick spongebob meme irl. who want me #anyways then the horrors started creeping in as i realized my plans for the day (more quest grinding in Genshin and perhaps HSR)#(bc it’s Sunday and that’s my dedicated day to game and not feel bad about it) would have to change since no internet = no pc games #and boy oh boy i don’t do well with a change in my plans. so as i miserably spent an hour working through all my little daily language-#-lessons and word and memory games like the little old lady i am. i started mulling over my alternative plans and ended up in a state of-#-decision paralysis. and i hate it here. i almost always know exactly what i want to do on any given day so on the occasions i don’t i just #-feel lost. and then lo and behold the internet came back on! but now i’m thinking of all the other things i could be doing.#like Do i actually want to game. if i do something else will i then regret that i didn’t take the opportunity to game. what do i do #i should start by taking another advil bc 1 wasn’t enough. and i really should shower bc i feel gross but it’s literally been storming-#nearly nonstop for the last 4 days and i don’t fancy getting struck by lightning. it should be over tomorrow so. 1 more day won’t kill me..#sometimes it rlly does feel like the weather reflects my life bc i’ve never seen lightning and flooding and tornadoes like this.#like yeah we get those regularly but idk if it’s ever been this relentless. and given that my life has never been this bad it just feels…#fitting. idk. that’s very self-centered of me to say though. but i do have main character syndrome so. lol. anyways #hey siri play Hell or High Water by Bailey Zimmerman for me please #sigh. i wanna finish my new venti fic but i told myself i wouldn’t work on my writing anymore until i get my license. which isn’t working-#as a means of motivation bc i’m just wasting time on other stuff instead. like i wanna watch Arcane so fucking badly. but i know it’s a-#truly Terrible idea bc i just Know i’m gonna fixate on Viktor to a horrific degree. and i literally don’t have time for that right now #like i will be a Complete Fuckin Wreck over that scrawny little white guy to a frankly embarrassing degree for an indefinite length of time

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